Pömnuria Hjarta er Medh Ono
by Kaytoko
Summary: Five years have passed since the end of the war, and the world has moved on toward a time of peace and progress under the steady rule of Queen Nasuada. But even in peace, there are those who wish to see it end. Disturbances brew in Surda and the Red Rider returns to Alagaësia with complications of his own. A story of redemption, conspiracy, adventure and the power of love. MxN
1. Chapter 1

_Pömnuria Hjarta er medh Ono_

**A/N:** Welcome to my first _Inheritance Cycle _fanfic! After finishing the series recently, how could I NOT write something about my favorite characters? It's far too hard to resist. That being said, **do NOT read if you haven't finished the series. There ARE spoilers. **Thank you! This idea is the brain child between me and my wonderful friend Suma Susaki. It's nothing more than pure fandom expressed in the style of a story.

**Edited 12/22/12**

**Disclaimer**: Nah. I don't own the _Inheritance Cycle_. Bummer.

Anyway, ENJOY!

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Nasuada leaned forward, rubbing the bridge of her nose. It wasn't often that the young Queen of Alagaësia showed signs of wear- she couldn't afford to have people think she was crumbling under the stress- but events of recent were enough to put wrinkles on even the most hardened of rulers. She was only thankful that she was in the presence of friends at the moment.

"I had a feeling that something was being whispered among the townsfolk as of late," she voiced. "I didn't realize it was something of this magnitude."

"Bah," Orik spat from her left. The frown on his lips could be seen through the curled hair of his thickly grown beard. "They're all fools for thinking that such a sheilven should be back on the throne of Alagaësia."

"Perhaps. But people do favor resistance over change. Even if that does mean favoring Galbatorix's rule over mine. I've seen enough of it in the last five years to know that, at least, is true," Nasuada said with a small sigh. She turned to the councilman sitting on her right. "What about the situation in Surda?"

Jörmundur cleared his throat. "We've gotten word from King Orrin that the port cities are suffering from multiple failed shipments. Speculations say that pirates are plundering the ships before they can make port, and all cargo is being lost before they can be received. The drop in imports and exports is hitting their economy hard. He is requesting for assistance in the economical side of things."

Nasuada's brows pulled together. "I cannot answer him at the moment. We're spread too thin between the rebuilding of Dras-Leona, funding the expeditions in the Hadarac and the upcoming games with the Urgals. We cannot spare the expense currently. Tell him to be patient. I'm sure we can make a few adjustments here and there to accommodate his plead."

Jörmundur nodded his understanding and scribbled her answer down on a scroll laid out before him. There was a brief moment of silence before movement in the large bowl of water set upon the center of the table they sat at caught Nasuada's attention. The water rippled before going still, a light gray image of Arya's angular face appearing on the mirror-like surface. Her hair was adorned with golden leaf amulets and dark braids twisted into her white gold crown. She looked every bit the Queen she now was, but there was a weariness in her eyes that betrayed her.

"My apologies for being tardy," she said. "Things have been more than demanding as of late. Orik, Jörmundur. It's a pleasure to see you again."

"You as well, my lady," the council man greeted.

"I hope things are going well in Ilirea," Arya spoke towards Nasuada. "The last time we spoke, you seemed more worried than usual."

"Things are probably better in Du Weldenvarden at the moment than they are here," Nasuada admitted. "We've heard word that remaining supporters of Galbatorix have started to make themselves more known. They say we lack direction and persuasive power. But I refuse to see fear as a suitable ruling mechanism. Not only that, the treaties between our city-states are growing weak and the people are losing hope with all the plundering occurring along our trade lines. I'm afraid the unrest in the people may dissolve into fighting. I ask you, not only as one Queen to another, but also as a friend. What should we do?

Arya gave a quiet sigh. "Things are not much better in Du Weldenvarden. The alliances we made during the war have not persisted through times of peace as well as we had hoped. I'm afraid this might partially be because of Eragon's departure to the Eastern Mountains after the fall of Galbatorix. People may believe that the Riders have abandoned them."

"Preposterous," Orik scoffed. "You are a Rider as well, are you not?"

"My duties prevent me from being the type of Rider the empire needs," she said distantly. There was a sharp note of longing that colored her tone. "It is not my role to uphold."

"What about Anenfel or Mendir?" Nasuada asked.

"No, they are still too young. Their dragons are no bigger than mere hatchlings," Arya responded.

"Then we must find another option," Orik spoke up. "Perhaps the exchanging of eggs should be in order? My people grow anxious for our chance to awaken a Rider."

The two leaders began to speak at length about exchanging their eggs, while Nasuada took a brief moment to close her eyes. The days were starting to blur together, all the issues of the land falling upon her shoulders at once. She had grown used to dealing with all the stress, but lately all she felt was tired. Already, she could feel the pulse of her reoccurring headache building in the back of her skull.

"I must apologize," she said, catching their attention again. "But it is starting to grow late, and I feel as though I should retire for the night." She carefully rose to her feet. "You may spend as much time as you need discussing the matters that ail you both. Thank you for contacting me on such short notice, Arya."

"Of course," the elf Queen acknowledged. "Slytha mor'ranr, iet vinr."

Nasuada smiled and repeated the familiar blessing for good sleep before taking her leave from the room. Jörmundur followed her out, graciously offering his arm for her to hold. She slipped her arm in his with a small smile. The door closed softly behind them and the guards waiting patiently to escort her to her room fell in step with them as they made their way down the castle hallway. She didn't particularly enjoy their constant company, but after the high number of assassination attempts after her first year of rule, she didn't fight the extra protection, if only to ease the Council's uneasiness.

After the castle's distraction during the fight with Galbatorix, Nasuada had spearheaded the reconstruction herself, aiming to include more windows and glass if only to make the place seem less dark. Yet, despite the elaborate draperies and reflected lights that brightened every room, dark shadows still haunted what was left of the place and reminded her that this place once housed a tyrant of unimaginable strength. And even though she did not enjoy the company of her guards, it eased her nerves just enough to allow her some peace in a place that still housed some of her most painful memories.

There were some things that could not be forgotten, and even five years later, she still woke in a sweat from the nightmares that plagued her mind at night. Nightmares that played with her mind and made her second guess whether or not her reality was real. Nightmares that pulled her back to a time where reality and fantasy were only distinguishable by the timid touch of a gentle mind.

A gentle touch she could use at that moment.

Somedays she felt as though she couldn't sleep. The days were long and the nights even longer, and most days she was more tired than she needed to be. Her lack of sleep led to chronic headaches that reared its ugly head when she grew too stressed or overworked herself. She ignored the pain for the first year of her rule, but as the agony grew unbearable, she employed the herbalist Angela to make a mix of powerful medicine to help suppress her headaches. She was uneasy, and her discomfort added to the strength of her headaches.

Giving a small sigh, the Queen tried to ignore the pressure building at the base of her skull. Jörmundur, more attuned to his lady's actions, leaned closer to her ear to ask, "Are you feeling ill?"

Nasuada swallowed thickly, setting her chin. "No more than usual."

He didn't look convinced. "Try not to push yourself too hard, my lady."

The young Queen smiled slightly at the worry in his voice. "Thank you for your concern, Jörmundur," she said softly. "But I will be fine."

He gave a quiet sigh and nodded, accepting her thanks. They continued a few paces before Nasuada thought of another thing to say to him. But as she opened her mouth, she felt a foreign mind gently probe at hers. A sudden rush of panic dropped into her stomach like a lead brick and she threw up the iron defenses around her mind she had perfected over the years. She waited for a long, tense moment, but the gentle touch remained. The longer it lingered, the more familiar it became. Her panic gave way to uncertain excitement, recognition so staggering that she nearly lost her footing.

"My lady! Nasuada! Are you alright?" Jörmundur asked in a panic, gripping her shoulders. She pushed him away without a word of explanation and took off down the hallway, her mind set on a single thought.

_Murtagh!_

Her feet carried her down the grand hallway until it broke away to a shadowed alcove, where she could barely make out his figure leaned against a wall. His arms were crossed and his stance defensive. His hair was long and jagged, as if he cut it himself, and his chin was rugged and unshaven. He wore heavy, travel-worn clothes of a neutral color with thick leather guards along his forearms. Gleaming at his hip, just under the cover of his cloak, was the jeweled hilt of the infamous blood-red Rider sword.

She looked him over slowly, as if she couldn't believe he was really there. When their eyes met- brown to grey- she saw the storm of emotions brewing behind the steely color. All the words unsaid, all the emotions hidden for so many years. He pushed himself away from the wall and took a single step between them. The space left lingering felt charged with emotion so strong, Nasuada nearly swayed on her feet. Slowly, his lips lifted to a small, but genuine smile.

"Hello," he murmured.

Before she could find the words to respond, her guards and Jörmundur came running up behind her, and she turned just barely to address them as the came to a halt beside her. The guards jumped to their defensive stances, spears uncertainly pointed in the direction of the unknown man.

"Who are you? How did you get in here?" the guard closest to them shouted.

"Stand down!" Nasuada said sharply, leveling an authoritative look amongst her guards. "He is a friend."

The guards were uncertain, but didn't feel comfortable enough to ignore their Queen's command and shuffled uncomfortably on their feet. Jörmundur pushed through the perplexed guardsmen to face his Queen and their new guest. His eyes narrowed and his lips pressed into a frown as he observed the red Dragon Rider standing beside his lady.

"Murtagh Morzansson."

**Thanks so much for your interest in this story! Let me know what you think thus far, and as always, stay tuned for more!**

sheilven: coward

Slytha mor'ranr, iet, vinr: Sleep peacefully, my friend

Pömnuria Hjarta er medh Ono (the title): My Heart is with You


	2. Chapter 2

_Pömnuria Hjarta er medh Ono_

**A/N**: I'm floored by the amount of feedback I've gotten for this story! And in such a short amount of time! You guys are incredible! That being said, I apologize for the crappy formatting issues. really hasn't liked me lately. Also, it's a reminder of good faith that this is a **Murtagh/Nasuada** centric story, and shall be treated as such. I'll try to incorporate as much of Alagaësia and it's affairs as possible to keep things fresh, but keep in mind where the main focus lies. Thank you!

**Disclaimer**: If I came up with this fantastic series, I'd be pretty impressed with myself. Too bad.

ENJOY!

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"You're not a face I expected to see," Jörmundur commented, scowling lightly. "Where's your dragon, Rider?"

"Close," Murtagh responded, his jaw tense. "But I'm not here to start anything." He gave Nasuada a quick meaningful glance that only Jörmundur caught. "I swear it."

The council man hesitated, unwilling to let a former enemy of the Varden be so close to his Queen. Nasuada spoke briefly about having help during her time in captivity, but never went into too much detail about it. As far as he knew, Murtagh did offer his help, which he found widely unbelievable after he watched the man viciously attack his own brother. It was hard for him to trust the words of such a wretched man. Yet, the genuine, gentle look in his eyes was starting to unsettle the man. Was this the same Rider he watched fight in the Battle of Burning Plains?

"Stand down," Nasuada repeated, her look daring them to fight against her word. The guards were reluctant to do as she said, but pulled back, nervously keeping their eyes on the notorious red dragon Rider.

"Leave us," the Queen continued. "I wish to speak with him in private."

"But your Majesty!" "My Lady!" "What about-" Nasuada lifted a hand to quell the protests of the guards.

"I swear no harm shall come to me in your absence." Her eyes lifted to meet Jörmundur's. "Please."

At times, Jörmundur was struck by the similarities she had with her father. Sometimes he wished she wasn't as headstrong as his old friend used to be, but he couldn't help but admire her for her tenacity. He recognized the moment when it presented itself. She would never say something she didn't believe wholeheartedly. Sighing to himself, the man dipped into a short bow.

"Yes, my Queen," he spoke, turning to lead the worried guards away.

As they disappeared around a corner, Nasuada glanced back at her new companion. After five years of being uncertain if he would ever return and refusing to entertain the fantasy if he did, she could hardly believe that he would show up so suddenly. Yet, he was never one for grand theatrics. Slipping in through the darkness suited him.

"I must say," Nasuada said, breaking the silence between them. "I'm surprised to see you standing here." The Rider met her gaze. "I was under the impression that you weren't returning to Alagaësia. At least, not this soon."

"You're not wrong," he admitted. "I probably would have wandered with Thorn for another ten years, but something bigger caught my attention." His gaze lingered on her face for a long moment before he spoke again. "I heard that Eragon left."

"Ah, yes," Nasuada replied, turning her eyes away from his. It was hard to focus with him staring at her like that. "Nearly four years ago, now."

He grimaced. "Where did he go?"

"East, beyond the borders of Alagaësia," Nasuada commented. "He needed a place to raise the dragons, and chose to settle in the Eastern Mountain range."

Murtagh looked annoyed. "So he leaves an unstable Empire on its own while he goes and plays with hatchlings. Of all the foolish things…" He shook his head.

"You and I both know the reasons behind his actions," the young Queen responded. "He's doing this for the benefit of all of Alagaësia."

"You defend him too easily," Murtagh argued. "It just seems too convenient. The people need a dragon Rider. There's only so much you can do on your own, Nasuada."

She knew he was right. The unrest in the Empire was enough to tell her that. She couldn't order Eragon to return to Alagaësia when she knew he wouldn't come. That would only create unnecessary stress between them as allies and friends. So few options were left, and the young Queen knew something had to be done. Something had to change, lest the people take it upon themselves to change what needs to be changed.

"I'm aware of what you speak of. I'll be the first to admit that things are not going as we planned them to be, but we're almost out of options. Unless…" She met the Rider's gaze. "You wish to take up the position?"

Murtagh's face hardened. "You know I can't."

"Do I?" Nasuada shot back. "You're just as capable of a rider as Eragon, and with Arya tied down to her people in Du Weldonvarden, she's not a viable option." Murtagh seemed surprised by this, but didn't comment upon it. "As a free Rider, there's so much you can do to help our people." Murtagh was already shaking his head before she finished her proposition.

"The people need a Rider they can rely on. They would never trust me," he murmured, lowering his eyes. The knowledge seemed to stab right through him, his expression reflecting the disgust and disappointment he felt towards himself. "Not after everything I've done."

"Then _make_ them trust you," the young Queen assented. "You've got a good heart, Murtagh. You proved this to me during one of the darkest times of my life. I _know_ you can prove it to them."

The Rider was reluctant to believe her. "You're one person, Nasuada. I can't convince an entire Empire." His body language changed, as if he were reverting into a shell. His arm unconsciously lifted to clench across his stomach, and his jaw set into a firm, unmoving line. Nasuada could tell that he wasn't willing to discuss the topic further. She was willing to let it go for now, but if there was one thing she learned since rising to leadership, it was to pursue an avenue as far as it would go before abandoning it. She glanced away from him, noticing the darkness outside the castle.

"It's gotten so late," she commented. "Have you eaten?"

"Nothing more than what I've had on me." Murtagh grimaced. "We haven't exactly made any real rest stops since we entered Alagaësia."

"Then I will have somebody prepare a meal," Nasuada said. A thought occurred to her. "Where is Thorn?"

"Near," the Rider said vaguely.

She didn't press him for information and lead them in the direction of the dining hall. The original dining hall reflected Galbatorix's taste in decoration, high vaulted ceilings with a sense of emptiness. Nasuada tried to fix it up a bit with more color, but the place was hard to transform, thus she only used it to entertain many high power guests at a time, opting to use a smaller, more personal room to eat her meals. The room itself was nothing more than a storage room near the kitchen, decorated with warm colors and gold. The table was by far smaller than the one in the formal dining hall, only seating about ten. The servants weren't perturbed by Nasuada's late night request for food; they were used to her eating schedule being sporadic due to her responsibilities.

Nasuada took up a seat beside Murtagh, talking quietly about non-consequential topics. The Queen knew that the servants were sneaking peeks through the cracks in the door, whispering gossip about her late-night guest. It wasn't any secret that Nasuada had refused to actively court any man, choosing to focus on her duties rather than her love life. There were whispers about her planning to officially court King Orrin, and she could see why. They spent a lot of time together, working negotiations and reworking the more innate laws of the land, meeting up several times within a year. The Council had mentioned marriage once or twice before, but she always ignored them. Perhaps they would finally figure out _why_.

The familiar throb in the back of her head alerted Nasuada that her headache was making its comeback. She pursed her lips, trying to ignore the pain. Murtagh paused what he was saying, noticing her change in expression.

"What's wrong?"

The Queen shook her head. "It's nothing more than a headache. No need to worry." Her companion frowned. He leaned closer to her, lifting his hands to touch her face, only to pause at the last second. Nasuada could feel her heart pounding loudly, anticipating his next action.

"May I?" he requested softly. The girl swallowed thickly, shooting a cautious glance towards the door leading towards the kitchens before nodding slowly. He took her permission, his hands moving to gently touch the sides of her head. His palms were rough with calluses, but his skin was warm, which was a sensation that brought back memories she refused to entertain for the past couple years. These hands were familiar. They were stained with the sins of an unwilling wielder, but they had a touch of kindness that healed the wounds Galbatorix inflicted upon her body during her captivity. She suppressed a shiver as his low voice started to softly recite words in the Ancient Language, relief washing warmly through her mind. A quiet, unbidden sigh escaped her lips.

"Thank you," she breathed. Murtagh's lips lifted a little. She expected him to pull away, but the Rider's hands lingered on her skin. She felt her cheeks warm under his acute attention, causing her to avert her gaze nervously. The kitchen doors opened with their meal then, breaking the moment between them. Murtagh's hands slipped from her face as he sat back, the lingering feeling of his hands leaving Nasuada with a twinge of disappointment.

The food was placed out before them; a simple, yet elegant array of meats, breads and cheeses. Nasuada tried to ignore the obvious looks the servants gave her, sitting as still as possible. She dismissed them as quickly as possible, discomforted by their knowing glances and low whispers. She watched as Murtagh reached for the meat.

"I'm willing to help you, Nasuada," he spoke suddenly, focusing on his task at hand. Nasuada could feel her eyebrows raise at his statement. Maybe convincing him was just a matter of letting him think through the options. "I want to. I don't know how, but I'm willing to give to try… so long as I know you will stand at my side."

"You have my unyielding support," Nasuada responded, surprised. The double meaning wasn't lost upon her. "You know this."

Murtagh let his lips lift a bit. "It helps to hear you say it."

Nasuada smiled back, reaching for the bread and cheese. They ate in silence for an extended period of time, comfortable with just their company. The Queen let her thoughts wander a bit, envisioning the avenues and opportunities that were now opened with Murtagh's return to Alagaësia. Despite her big thoughts, she knew he was essentially right. More work would be needed for him to become a Rider that the people trusted and could rely on.

"You know," the Queen said quietly, picking at a grape on her plate. "You never really said why you decided to return." She waited for his response, glancing over at him when none came. The Rider looked pale, his hands shaking visibly, almost as if the energy was being sucked straight out of him.

"Murtagh?" Nasuada asked, trying to keep her calm. The man swayed forward a bit before his eyes rolled to back of his head. He fell with a solid thump against the wood of the table. The Queen was immediately out of her seat. "You there!" She pointed at the cracked door to the kitchen, the servants jumping in surprise. "Call the healers! Quickly!" Two of the servant girls darted out the door of the dining room while Nasuada uneasily place a hand on Murtagh's shoulder, taking note of the way her own hand shook. "Stay with me, Dragon Rider!" she murmured.


	3. Chapter 3

_Pömnuria Hjarta er medh Ono_

**A/N**: I suppose an apology is needed for the giant lack of updates in the last two months. Things have been very busy, but I think you guys can understand. Happy Holidays to those who observe them. :) Also, thank you so much for the multitude of kind reviews! Your feedback encourages me to stop being such a lazy bum and write my way back into existence. A big thanks goes out to my wonderful friend **Suma Suzaki** for talking me out of some silly plot mistakes. You can thank her for keeping this as close to the book as possible.

**Disclaimer: **If I owned this, there would be much relationship building beyond what there was. Clearly. lol Too bad.

ENJOY!

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When Murtagh woke, the first thing he noticed was that the world seemed… fuzzy. His head felt heavy and jumbled, and it felt like there was cotton in his mouth. He blinked slowly, trying to push his way out of the heavy drug-like haze that hung over his mind. He felt awful, as if he drunk for days and was just now feeling the effects of a hangover. He reached to press a hand against his head, hoping to smother the pain away. He was slowly starting to relax again when a loud, frantic roar filled the air. Murtagh's eyes snapped open. He struggled to sit up, opening his mind to his dragon.

_MURTAGH!_ Thorn roared through their link. The rider flinched at the swarm of emotions that crashed over him. Anger, panic, fear. _If they hurt you, I will eat the heads of any man who stands between us!_

_It's okay. I'm fine,_ Murtagh responded automatically as he leaned across the bed towards one of the open windows along the wall. The small, high ceiling room was bright with the late morning light and overlooked the spanning city that was once Uru'baen. Over the years following the decisive battle, the city had rebuilt, better and bigger than what he remembered. The architectural feat was one of great glory and valor, but the Rider would appreciate its beauty another time. His eyes searched the sky for the frantic dragon that swooped dangerously close to the tops of buildings, blasting out threatening spews of red and white fire into the air. Through the open windows, he could hear people screaming in fright from the scene. _Calm down! You're frightening people!_ Murtagh said.

_I do not care! I will not calm until I see you with my own eyes!_ Thorn released another angry screech to accentuate his point. Murtagh tried to reason with him, but the red dragon ignored him, making his stance very clear.

"Stubborn fool," the rider commented, shifting to look for his boots. Despite his annoyance, it was hard for Murtagh to not be humbled by Thorn's dramatics. Their bond was literally the only thing that kept him going for so long. He didn't know how far he would have made it after they escaped Galbatorix's control if it wasn't for his dragon.

Murtagh found his boots neatly placed at the end of the bed, but when he reached for them, his head spun uncomfortably. He grit his teeth, leaning down to hold his head between his hands. The feeling of light-headedness lingered despite him trying to rid himself of it. He planned to go to the nearest opening in the castle big enough for Thorn to land upon and calm him there, but whatever was ailing him was making it extremely difficult to function. He managed to pull his boots onto his feet and lift his unresponsive body onto his feet. He didn't know where he was, or how to find a place to meet Thorn, but he reminded himself to take one step at a time. Reaching the only door in the room, the Rider flung it open, startling the guards posted on either side.

"Rider!" one of the men exclaimed, lowering his spear a bit in self-defense. "You must remain in this room until the healers can give you permission to leave!"

"Permission?" Murtagh repeated. "I could care less. Let me pass."

"We cannot," the other man said sternly. "The Queen ordered you to remain here."

Murtagh hesitated. He respected Nasuada enough to not want to undermine her authority, but some things were more important than trying to save reputations. "Surely you're aware of the furious dragon that flies your skies," he stated, staring the man down. "He will continue to terrorize the city until he finds me, so unless you wish to see Iliria burn like it did when it was Uru'baen, I suggest you step out of my way."

The man wearily glanced over at his partner, worry clouding over his brave face. "Th-the Queen ordered us to watch over you as you recover. We shall escort you," he said boldly.

Despite his threats, Murtagh was quite impressed with the man's tenacity. If he was anything but exhausted he might have fought back, but in the moment, he shrugged and let the man have his way. At least he was finding a way to get to his dragon faster than if he wandered the halls of the castle half-delirious and on his own.

As they ascended to the top of the castle, Murtagh noted that his escort tripled in size, more guards distrustingly following behind them. It was clear that the word of him being the notorious red dragon rider had spread to all ears in the castle, which explained why people would stare at him as they walked by. He felt uncomfortable and increasingly more desperate to see a familiar face that didn't stare him down with contempt. Eventually, his guard escorts lead him to the wide roof of the castle, open air rushing past him. He took a deep breath, calling to his dragon silently.

The guards shifted nervously as Thorn's thunderous cries grew louder, the large red dragon swooping up over the edge of the roof. He thrust out his wings to slow his ascent, hovering for a moment in the air. His red scales glistened in the light of the sun, creating an awe-inspiring moment for those who did not fear the dragon's might. The guards around Murtagh jumped to attention at the sight of him, trying to keep their spears from shaking.

Thorn let out a threatening roar, frightening cries out of some of the guards along the roof. The group around Murtagh stayed in formation, but he could tell that they were visibly shaken. A fight against a dragon wasn't one they wished to entertain. The red dragon landed heavily before them, anxiously whipping his head around to snarl at the guards around him, his wide wings out in warning.

_Calm down_, Murtagh said. The soldiers wearily stepped closer to Murtagh, turning their spears closer towards him as a visual warning towards the dragon. _It's just a precaution. You know I could take them if I wanted. _

_I will not be calm,_ Thorn snarled._ I nearly lost you once because I was careless. I will NOT repeat that mistake!_

Murtagh felt his face burn with shame of the memory Thorn resurfaced. It was a foolish mistake that nearly cost him his, and consequently Thorn's, life, and that was something he couldn't talk Thorn out of. Pushing the thought away, the rider addressed the men around him.

"He won't do anything. Let me speak to him," he requested. The men didn't move, giving him suspicious glances. Anger began to bubble in his chest. "Must I repeat myself?" he growled. "Let me pass!"

"We do not trust you," one of the soldiers that joined them later said with surprising bluntness. "We will not."

Thorn's low growl grew louder and Murtagh glared at the man, trying to think of a solution. "Don't you have a magician here? I'll repeat myself in the Ancient Language if that makes you any less weary of me!" He quickly spoke in the Ancient Language, hoping that might reap a benefit of sorts.

A man that stood a ways off, separate from the group, wearily spoke. "He's okay… Let him go." The other soldiers were reluctant to step back, but it was clear that the man meant what he said, and they moved enough to give Murtagh some space. The rider let out a quick relieved breath. He really needed to work on his persuasion skills.

Murtagh moved as quickly as his sluggish body would allow him to, which was just fast enough for Thorn to close the distance between them. The dragon bumped his head against his human's chest with enough force to make his frustration known, but the affection was not lost upon his rider. Murtagh took the hit, steadying himself by holding Thorn's head close to him in response.

_I'm sorry I didn't contact you sooner_, he said softly. The dragon growled loudly in agreement, but allowed himself to relax, folding his wings up next to him.

_I'm just glad you are safe_, Thorn replied.

The guards were weary for a while after the Rider was reunited with his dragon, but after an extended period of time where neither of them moved from their relaxed sitting positions, some of the soldiers grew bored of the sudden lack of action. Unbeknown to Murtagh, more than half of his escort had disappeared back to where they had came from, leaving only three behind to watch what might happen. Thorn and Murtagh were in their own world, thinking through what had transpired.

_This sounds strange,_ Murtagh said. _But, it feels as though I cast a spell that was too much for my body to handle, even though I know I haven't._

Exhaustion from magic use was something he hadn't experienced for years, at least, not after he had the power of the Eldunari. Despite all their potential uses, he couldn't bring himself to bring them along to better himself. He wrestled with his conscious for years for using the Eldunari like he did, and the lack of their extra magic reserves made him acutely aware of his own limitations. Feeling as if the magic was being sucked straight out of him wasn't something he expected to experience. Something must have happened to him that was beyond what his wards could handle- or something he didn't think to ward against.

_The air around here feels weird,_ Thorn commented, _as if something is keeping magic from being used. That could be why you feel faint. _

Murtagh thought on that. _Possibly. My wards are powerful enough to unconsciously counteract simple threats, but even that could be exhausted if it's working against something bigger. But, what could have triggered it? _

Thorn growled low in his throat. _If it triggered the wards that protect you, then someone intended to harm you._

A cold feeling washed over the Rider. _Or… some_thing_. _Murtagh looked straight into Thorn's large ruby eye, dread pooling in his stomach. _The food was poisoned._

"What's going on up here?"

The guards snapped to attention as Nasuada made her way up to the roof, her eyes immediately finding Murtagh. The rider moved to face her, the cold feeling left by his realization sitting uncomfortably in his chest. The Queen quickly walked over to where he stood, a worried look crossing her dark features.

"I hope you sorted out what you need to," she said diplomatically, retaining proper distance between them. "You should be resting, not running up to the top of castles."

"Duty called," he responded with a hint of sarcasm. "Here's a better question. When exactly were you going to tell me that people were out to kill you, Nasuada?


	4. Chapter 4

_Pömnuria Hjarta er medh Ono_

**A/N: **I feel as though I have some of the best reviewers ever! Thank you so much for your support! I apologize for how long it seems to take me to update. I write so slowly, and I'm honestly trying my best to keep the story as believable and in-character as possible, and that means a lot of writing and re-writing when I'm coming up with these chapters. Thanks again for all your positive reviews! They're by far the most encouraging thing. :) Much thanks to Suma Susaki again for helping me with all the ideas. These chapters would never get done without her help!

**Disclaimer**: If I wrote the Inheritance Cycle, it would be classified as a romantic fantasy. Too bad.

ENJOY!

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The Queen hesitated, her eyes slipping away from his momentarily. He followed her gaze, noting that the guards seemed more alert at his declaration. Nasuada met his gaze again. "I had wished we could speak of such matters in a more private setting," she said quietly. "We don't need people getting upset over such trivial things."

"Trivial?" Murtagh repeated lowly. "Since when do you consider your life as _trivial_?"

"Since affairs of my country supersede my selfish needs," Nasuada countered firmly. "Now, if we could return to the healing quarters, we could discuss everything you wish to in detail."

A deep growl filled the air at the Queen's words, Thorn's scaly lip lifting over his fangs dangerously. Nasuada cautiously glanced at him, her guards reaching for their weapons nervously. _I refuse to let you go._ Murtagh placed a comforting hand on the dragon's nose, letting him know he felt similar.

"I'm sorry it has to be like this, Thorn," Nasuada reasoned. "I wouldn't take your Rider from you if I had a choice, but it's become no secret that the red Dragon Rider is within Ilirea's walls. Our situation is quite delicate right now."

Murtagh knew her words to be true, but the knowledge still sent a stab of ice through his chest. He felt years from being ready to return to the city that brought him so much pain, especially when its people would rather see him dead. He acted with a conscious though, and despite the danger of the situation, his purpose remained clear to him. He had a reason to return to the land of his birth, and no matter how threatened he felt, he was going to fulfill his goal.

Thorn nudged his Rider's hand, recognizing the feelings of fright and uncertainty passing through their bond. _I will not leave you like this, _the dragon reminded him. Murtagh's lips lifted a bit at the dragon's worry.

"I won't leave Thorn behind," he told Nasuada, meeting her eyes with his own. His eyes searched hers for a long moment before the young Queen nodded.

"I understand," she agreed softly. "As far as I'm aware, there are entrances leading to the dragon keeps around the outside of the castle, although, you may know this better than I." Murtagh cast a sidelong glance towards the city, his mind darkening with how he remembered it. "We've kept the keep well stocked," the Queen continued. "On the off chance that we may have a visiting dragon." She smiled knowingly at Thorn. The dragon hummed appreciatively. "That should give us the privacy we require, I should hope."

"Thank you," the rider responded, feeling some relief. He unconsciously turned to mount Thorn, but paused, his hands on the edge of the saddle. "Did you want to… come?" He felt his face flush at his blatant offer, but didn't retract his inquiry. He saw her answer in her eyes, but she shook her head instead.

"Another time perhaps," she said, turning back towards the stairs. "I'll meet you there shortly."

The Rider watched as she directed her guards, shifting the focus away from him for a moment. As he lifted himself up into Thorn's saddle, he couldn't help but feel a little disappointed. He understood why she refused him, but he couldn't deny how her refusal made him feel. Finally sitting in the saddle, Murtagh wearily leaned towards Thorn's neck.

_I'm more tired than I thought,_ he told the dragon. _Try to take it slow._

_I will do as you ask, but when you are better, you owe me a flight,_ Thorn responded, rising to his feet.

The guards left on the roof watched the dragon wearily as he spread his wings, preparing to take flight. Murtagh chuckled at his dragon's demand, agreeing wholeheartedly. The red dragon growled low in anticipation, before spreading his wings and launching himself off the top of the castle. Murtagh could feel Thorn's itch to fly faster and higher through their link, but he restrained himself, keeping a low speed and a level descent, looking for the opening for the dragon keep that they once traversed many times before. Yet, he could still remember every dark feeling that came with the familiar flight. The city of Uru-baen, the terror of its citizens watching under their wings as they flew back to do Galbatorix's bidding. Despite the name the city hailed under, some things never changed.

There were many openings strewn about the castle's exterior where dragons were able to come and go, a reminder of a time where Riders once visited. The entrance to the keep was nondescript along the side of the castle, a large opening that could easily thought to be a large window from a distance with it's elegantly built entranceway. Thorn swooped easily through the opening and down the long torch-lit corridor, his wingtips not even reaching the walls. The keep was once built to house Shuriken during the rule of Galbatorix, but the dragon outgrew the keep with as long as the dark Rider spent on the throne, and the keep was left unused for many years. Only Thorn had used the dragon keep during their short stay, and it easily became one of their favorite places to be when they weren't needed elsewhere.

True to her word, the dragon keep was well stocked, fresh hay lining the marble floors and vats of clean water lined the walls. The keep was just as spacious as they remembered, various caves dotting the walls where dragons could sleep in solitude. The keep had an opening opposite of the entrance corridor that over looked the spacious throne room, which was significantly less empty than Murtagh remembered it. Thorn glided down to the main floor, curious of the throne room himself. The room was alight with more torches than he ever remembered seeing, which bounced off the jewels embedded in the walls, giving the whole room a warm golden feel. Nasuada had taken down the large ostentatious throne for a more conservative one that sat closer to the ground, which reflected her view as Queen. Despite her absence, many people conversed in the corridors, standing around large tables with maps of Alagaësia open upon its surface. The throne room was a place for important council members to come and discuss pressing matters. Murtagh couldn't help but feel a bit of pride towards the things Nasuada had chosen to change.

It took longer for Nasuada to meet him at the keep, entering through a small door near the overlook on the throne room. Two guards followed her in, taking up places next to the door. The Rider lifted himself from where he sat leaning against Thorn's side to speak with her.

"Are you ready to tell me the truth?" he asked. She slowed to a stop, her eyes meeting Thorn's. The dragon watched her carefully, keeping his head relaxed upon the hay.

"I think you should sit down," she suggested.

"I won't if you plan to stand," Murtagh responded. Nasuada sighed, but smiled a bit at his request.

"So be it," she said, folding her skirt behind her knees as she lowered herself to the hay. Murtagh was surprised to see her consent so easily and returned to the position against Thorn that he originally started in. He let a breath out slowly, feeling more drained than he wanted to be. Thorn lifted his head, resting it beside the two people that sat beside him.

"Hello, Thorn. I apologize for earlier. I wish we could have reunited under more favorable circumstances," the Queen said to the dragon. Thorn hummed lightly at the attention.

_I as well, Majesty,_ he replied. Murtagh's lips lifted a bit at his shy politeness, and noted the way Nasuada's face lit up at his voice. He always wondered what she would think of Thorn if she knew him as intimately as he did. As much as he enjoyed the moment, more important things needed attention.

"Are you going to tell me?" Murtagh said, catching the Queen's attention again. "Or wait for me to ask you again?"

Nasuada's smile fell slowly, and she broke away from his gaze to study Thorn. "I must earnestly apologize for what has happened. Many precautions have been placed upon Ilirea since your departure which I planned to explain in due time, but misfortune caught up with you first."

"Misfortune," Murtagh repeated. "You mean, poison."

Nasuada's lips drew into a line. "Yes."

"That shouldn't have affected me," he responded. "I have wards against such things."

"I had hoped to explain things to you before you would ask me about them," the Queen explained, her back straightening into a stiff no-nonsense posture. It was clear that she wasn't going to be flexible with the following information. "We have placed magic limiters across the city in hopes of bringing a sense of unity to our people. All visitors are to be warned about such limitations before their arrivals, to avoid situations like… yours."

Things began to click into place to Murtagh, but Thorn beat him to the conclusion. _It was the poison! _he said to both humans. _That's what triggered your ward and the limiters are what drained your magic! The spell placed on the city was too much for your body to handle and the poison was able to do you in._ He growled deeply, showing his teeth again. _Whomever poisoned you better be prepared to face the wrath of a dragon!_

"I agree with that," Murtagh voiced, looking to lock eyes with the woman sitting in front of him. "But I don't believe the poison was meant for me, was it, Your Majesty?"

If Nasuada was uncomfortable, she didn't look it. "I admit I have not been entirely forthcoming with information, but neither have you. I have yet to know why you returned to Alagaësia, Murtagh."

"My reasons are my own," the Rider said evasively.

"And some secrets are mine to keep," Nasuada countered.

Murtagh narrowed his eyes, recognizing that she wouldn't budge unless he was willing to divulge information he wasn't ready to reveal. "Just tell me this," he said resignedly. "Are you safe? With no magic to protect you, what isn't stopping an archer from shooting you from above?"

Nasuada's lips curved into a smile at his words. "You have so little faith in my guardsmen. Most helped liberate Uru'baen and all have fought valiantly in the war. I believe they are all capable to protect me to their best ability." She spoke genuinely, which Murtagh found hard to believe. He did not share her sentiments, but it was hard to argue with her words. "As for the poisoning, that is a separate matter being investigated on its own. No need to raise the alarm like you seem to desire. Although, I do appreciate your worry."

"You don't have to be the Queen of Alagaësia with me, Nasuada." He knew he spoke impulsively, but he still believed he knew a part of her that the world never would. It made him nervous, but he wanted to share that with her again. "I would not have let such things come so close to you," he said softly.

Her eyes slipped away from him for a moment, a small blush crossing her cheeks. "I know you wouldn't," she responded softly. "Forgive me for being so formal. I haven't many opportunities to be anyone but the Queen."

"You should try being Nasuada more," Murtagh suggested. "I've heard great things about her."

Before the young Queen could respond, a tremendous sneeze filled the air, blowing hot air across both Murtagh and Nasuada. The Queen looked at the dragon in surprise but Murtagh knew better.

_You're being very rude,_ he said to the red dragon. Thorn snorted turning away.

_Couldn't help it. You were being a lovesick hatchling._

_You can forget about your extra fly later, then,_ the Rider shot back.

"Well, the healer must be worried over your condition by now," Nasuada said distractedly, catching his attention again. She brushed off imaginary hay off her dress before rising to her feet. "I think a visit would be appropriate."

_Go on and follow her. I'll just take a nap here. The hay is quite comfortable._ Thorn turned his head away as Murtagh rose to his feet to follow Nasuada.

_Do as you wish. I'll get you back later,_ the Rider promised. He followed the young Queen out of the dragon's keep, thinking up possible retaliations to indulge upon in due time


	5. Chapter 5

_Pömnuria Hjarta er medh Ono_

**A/N:** I must say, the best part about having such intelligent reviewers is that you guys won't hesitate to tell me the things you want to see from the story. Which in all honestly, reminds me of what's important! So thank you for your inadvertent help! Also, don't be discouraged by the slow build-up between our lovely main characters. They'll find each other in good time. ;) Another big thanks to Suma for helping me plan this story in its entirety! Boy, do we have big plans for this lovely story!

**Disclaimer:** For real? This would be my personal ending to the story. I just like a little more fluff than what was written by the TRUE author, CP. Not mine, unfortunately.

ENJOY!

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The healer pressed cold boney fingers against Murtagh's wrist, feeling for his pulse. The man seemed frail and worn from years, perpetual frown lines falling from the edges of his mouth. He eyed Murtagh with a hint of suspicion, pulling away to write on a roll of parchment.

"It's quite a miracle that you're even alive right now," he murmured. "Especially will all your fooling around you did this morning. It's lucky you're a Rider."

Murtagh open and closed his hand a few times, still feeling the drowsy effects that he woke up with that morning. With all the urgent matters done and accounted for, he was starting to realize just how out of sorts he really was. The healer rolled his parchment up and pulled out a bottle from his coat.

"Do yourself a favor and drink this. I would say that the antidote should get you back on your feet, but you've already took it upon yourself to do that," he said sharply. He turned to gather his things, preparing to leave.

"Is she okay?" Murtagh asked before he could reach the door. The healer glanced over his shoulder to take in the Rider's serious look. "Was Nasuada poisoned?"

The older man shifted, antsy to leave the room of the red Rider. "The Queen did not partake in the food that ailed you," he spoke quickly, leaving before the Rider could respond. Murtagh watched the man leave before letting his head fall in relief. She didn't stay long after they arrived at the healing quarters, voicing that she had duties to attend to. He didn't make it obvious, but he worried that she was keeping more secrets that could harm her that he didn't know about. He planned to hang back for the time being, but he wasn't about to let her suffer by herself if she didn't need to.

He continued to sit upon the bed, letting himself accept his exhaustion, feeling as though he wanted to just sleep. He fingered the bottle the healer gave him, popping the cork before downing it. Leaning back, he let his mind float for a while, just feeling. When he opened his eyes again, the sun came through the windows from a different angle, the room darker than he remembered it. Lifting himself off the bed, he felt more relaxed and refreshed.

_Still in the keep?_ he asked Thorn.

_Of course,_ the dragon replied.

_Stay there. I'll come find you_. The Rider headed for the door, walking down the hallway back to the dragon keep.

_Don't worry. The hay is too warm for me to be the one to find you._ Thorn responded. _Have a nice nap?_

_It wasn't a nap_, Murtagh corrected. _I just closed my eyes for… a couple hours. _

_Whatever you say, Captain Hibernation._

_You're one to talk_, Murtagh snapped back. _You would sleep all week if you could!_

_That comparison is invalid. _Thorn huffed. _I am a dragon._

_And I need sleep too. Now quit smarting off. I'll be there shortly,_ Murtagh said with finality.

It didn't take long for the Rider to find the keep again. He passed a few people along the way, avoiding eye contact and their suspicious stares. He realized that what Nasuada said wasn't just talk; the people of the city knew he was here, and that put a nervous feeling in his chest. He felt some relief walking through the doors to the keep, seeing Thorn's large red body curled up in the same spot that he left him in.

_The leaders are talking. _Thorn told him. _They're talking about us._

The Rider glanced at the hole overseeing the throne room wearily. He walked closer, taking note of the group of people clustered around a large table. At the head, Nasuada sat in a high backed chair, her hands folded under her chin as she listened to an older man speak. She looked serious yet authoritative, even on the same ground as the people she ruled over. He noticed that she chose to have her meetings closer to her people while Galbatorix had always donned his jeweled throne when he spoke to his subordinates. Even from here, he could see the respect in her people's eyes for her viewpoint.

"What are they talking about?" Murtagh asked the dragon behind him.

_The people, mostly._ Thorn replied. _They fear us and wonder why we are here. They worry that we may still have connections with Galbatorix. _He growled sharply._ Ignorant fools. _

"They don't know what it was like for us," Murtagh told him. "They're just worried for their own. I wouldn't trust me either."

_I do not like it. _Thorn turned his head, opening his ruby eyes. _They don't trust us. It makes me uncomfortable._

"I know. I as well," Murtagh responded. "But you know why we're here. We must stay."

_I wish we did not have to, _the dragon thought._ I cannot rest here. The walls are too familiar. They haunt me._

Murtagh turned towards his dragon, compassion in his eyes. Uru'baen was a place that neither of them viewed with much love, and they returned to it with still healing hearts. They came together though, to face their demons by each other's side. Thorn was the type of dragon to act tougher than he felt, refusing to let such things as a scorned past affect their future. But his Rider knew him better than that. They shared so many fears and struggles together that it was like looking through a window between them. Everything they experienced, they felt together.

"Nasuada has good intentions. She knows what would help us," Murtagh said, stepping away from the overlook to the throne room. He walked back to his dragon, taking up a seat beside the red dragon's head. Thorn blew warm air out his nose, bumping his Rider's leg in affection. "I believe in her, but I realize that what she wishes from us won't be easy to achieve. An empire scorned by our actions will not give up their anger because their Queen wishes it."

_Maybe not, but I think they would be willing to try for her,_ Thorn responded. _I know you noticed it as well. She cares for them, and they love her in return. _

"I know," Murtagh murmured, absentmindedly rubbing the scales along Thorn's nose. The dragon hummed softly. "I want to earn their trust. I want them to accept us for who we've become, not who we once were. I know that's hard to do, but I'd like to try for her." He stroked Thorn's nose a few more times. "And for us."

_I trust you, Murtagh_, Thorn told him softly. _Do what you need to. I will always be by your side._

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The door to Nasuada's room clicked shut softly behind her, the young Queen releasing a pent-up sigh, leaning her back against the wood of the wall. The talks with the council didn't quite go the way Nasuada had wanted. Their resistance to the Red Rider and his dragon was expected, but frustrating. Hardly anybody was willing to trust him the way that she was, but she had to keep her alliances to herself to avoid all-out conflict. She agreed to consider some proposals about his stay, but in the end, nothing was decided. The council members were all thick-headed, prejudiced old members who would rather stick to the ways of the past than accept the changes she wished to introduce. They were always difficult for her to strong-arm into anything, but they were especially difficult for the day's council meeting.

Nasuada rubbed the side of her temples in small circles, hoping to avoid having to take the herbs that Angela gave her for her headache. She had so many jarred nerves to calm over the course of the day, starting with the absolutely furious Orik in the mid-morning. She was only able to sweet-talk him into not storming into Murtagh's sick room and spearing him through right there. Luckily, he didn't try attempted murder, but the dwarf leader didn't stay for pleasantries when Murtagh awoke. She could only hope that her alliance with the dwarves was stronger than a blood grudge against the red dragon Rider.

Her people was the next big step in this situation, and she was hoping that her servants could get the word out to the citizens through gossip that Murtagh wasn't here to start anything and that they wouldn't have anything to fear. Granted, she knew it wouldn't work, but getting the idea in their heads was a start. Gaining their trust for him was a long winding staircase, and she was still on the first step.

Pushing herself off the wall, the young Queen moved towards her wardrobe, intending to change out of the stifling royal attire that she wore. She reached behind her to undo the soft tie around her waist when a quiet knock against her balcony window caught her attention. Ducking behind her large wardrobe closet, Nasuada bent down quietly to pull out the hidden blade she kept under it. Long and thin, the knife was a self-protection that she insisted she knew well, and kept a secret from her guards. They were beside themselves when she tried to wield a sword when she visited the training quarters. She was glad they weren't around during her times with the Varden. Modern ideals of royalty was skewed beyond what she desired.

Keeping a sharp eye out, she made her way towards the balcony doors, being cautious to any sudden movements of the shadowed figure she could see through the curtains. When none came, she forced the door open, swinging her blade towards the neck of her target. Her attack was blocked by the quick swing of an arm and a duck by the man on her balcony.

"Stop! It's me!" the man said quickly.

"Murtagh?" Nasuada exclaimed. "I nearly killed you! What are you doing out on my balcony?"

"I'm glad to see you protecting yourself," the Rider said, noticing the long blade in her hand. "Can't fully trust your guards, can you?"

"My guards are just fine," the Queen snapped back. "Why are you here, Rider?"

"Easy. I just wanted to talk to you," he responded.

"Then come to me through my door like normal people!" Nasuada retaliated.

"If I did that then people would wonder why there was a man coming to your room so late at night," the Rider said civilly. "I was hoping to avoid that, if you don't mind."

"I do mind." Nasuada folded her arms, eyeing him wearily. "What did you wish to speak about?"

"First, I think we should put this down." Murtagh gently took the knife from Nasuada's fingers, placing it on the ground away from her. "There's something really frightening about a capable woman who knows how to use a knife." Nasuada rolled her eyes, but couldn't help but feel charmed by the compliment. "Secondly," Murtagh said, leaning himself against the balcony railing. "I think it's high time we spoke like we knew each other before yesterday."

"I have been speaking to you as such," the Queen responded.

Murtagh shook his head. "Not when you say it like that. You treat me like a Rider, but you don't treat me like Murtagh. I don't know the Queen that you have become, but I do know Nasuada, the fearless leader of the Varden who would not bend beneath any sort of torture Galbatorix could throw your way." Murtagh stared her down for a long tense moment. "I want to speak with Nasuada now, if you don't mind, Your Majesty."

Nasuada stared at him, honestly unable to come up with a thing to say. She wasn't lying when she told him that it had been a long time since she spoke to anybody like she used to when she was just Nasuada, not the leader of the Varden, not the Queen of Alagaësia. Being given the opportunity to indulge herself by being herself was… unnerving. Yet, she couldn't help but feel exhilarated by the challenge.

"Alright," she spoke, swallowing thickly. "What would you like to talk about, Murtagh?"

"Lets start simple," he responded, his drive slowly turning into a slight shyness. "How have you been?"

She blinded in surprise. "What?"

"How have you been?" he repeated, shifting in his spot a bit. "It's been… five years? Have you been… well?"

The young Queen shifted in her own spot, rubbing her arm a bit in uncharacteristic nervousness. "Well… yes. For the most part. Things have been… trying," she voiced. "What about you?"

"Better," the Rider responded. "Thorn and I… we're better."

"That's… great," Nasuada breathed out, a feeling of genuine happiness falling upon her. Many times she worried about the two of them. They were in such a delicate position when they left those years ago. She hoped they'd find peace in the places they visited.

"That makes you happy?" Murtagh asked, a touch of surprise in his voice. Nasuada felt her cheeks warm a bit that he recognized that about her so quickly.

"Of course," she admitted, shifting her eyes away. "I wished for it everyday."

There was a silence between them after her admittance. Nasuada could almost hear her heart beating in the quiet air. She faced so many trying situations that most men would shy away from, but her hands shook the most from a simple conversation with a man she swore she would never see again. She risked a small glance in his direction. The Rider wasn't looking at her, but she could tell her words left an impression upon him.

"Nasuada," he spoke softly. Her heart jumped at the sound of his voice. Murtagh lifted his eyes to meet hers. They shone with contained emotion. "I cannot tell you how much I missed you."

The words touched her, settling deep inside her chest. She slowly let a smile curl up her lips to touch her cheeks, genuinely showing how that made her feel. "I worried for so long that I saw you for the last time that day in Uru'baen. You didn't seem like you would return for anything. I wouldn't blame you for it either. I'm just happy I was wrong."

The Rider watched her for a long moment before he pushed himself away from the balcony railing, taking a few steps to close the distance between them. Nasuada stood her ground, looking up at his face as he stood uncertainly before her.

"May I?" he whispered. She swallowed thickly, nodding shortly, closing her eyes as he lifted his hand to her cheek. His touch had a different vibe than it did the first night he returned. His fingers brushed lightly across her skin, sending sparks down her spine rather than relief to a pulsating headache. She breathed deeply as he threaded them through her hair, gently pulling her into a loose, cautious embrace.

The girl sighed in contentment, lifting her own arms to press into his back. The feeling was one of a nearly forgotten dream; the feeling of his arms holding her gently. She remembered it with the bitter taste of loss, but she hoped it wouldn't result in the same flavor. For now, it was all she could ask for in the world.


	6. Chapter 6

_Pömnuria Hjarta er medh Ono_

**A/N: **Once again, thank you for all your lovely feedback! And thank you also, to all my silent readers who put this story on their alert. It means a lot to know you guys enjoy this story so much! I'd also like to take a moment to tell you guys that regardless of where this story may go, and whether or not you stick around to see it through to the end, I really do appreciate any and all support that is given towards this work. Thank you. Also, I'd like to let you guys know that the Spring semester at my University is starting up again soon and these rapid updates won't be as rapid anymore. I hope you guys can understand if there's any delay! Thanks!

Special thanks to my muse Suma again for telling my the simplest way to transition a scene when I'm stuck trying to be too complicated. If only you guys could see the way we talk about this story.

**Disclaimer:** Yeah yeah yeah. I'm just playing with somebody else's characters in hopes that others will enjoy my take on a different part of the same story. Not mine.

ENJOY!

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Murtagh cast his eyes over the spiraling cases of books that lined the shelves to the ceiling. He remembered this library; it was the same one he visited once while he wandered the halls of Galbatorix's castle as a child. It was just as vast as he remembered it, but less menacing with the floor to ceiling windows open to the light outside. Wooden ladders lined the shelves and spiraling staircases worked their way up to the highest books. Looking at all of the books within the huge room, the Rider hesitated, unsure where to start.

_You could always start at the beginning,_ Thorn commented in the back of his head.

"Thank you for your help," he murmured sarcastically, walking to the nearest bookcase. He read the spines of the books, some well-kept, some worn with wear. _The Long History of Alagaësia_, he read._Of Origins and Beginnings, The Great War. _He paused. _The Legacy of Dragon Riders._ Touching the book, he leaned it back from the shelf, taking in the glittering dragon painted upon its worn green cover.

_Perhaps another time_, he thought, sliding it back into place.

_Try the Folklore section_, Thorn suggested. _And take that book with you. It seems interesting._

_I'll bring it to the keep this evening if you'd like,_ Murtagh suggested, looking around for the books under Folklore.

_I would like that,_ Thorn hummed.

As the Rider skimmed the titles along the wall, he wondered just how many of these books Nasuada had found the time to read. He recalled that regardless of what time of the day it was, Galbatorix had a different book with him no matter where he went. He never really thought of the dark Rider was much of a reader, but the man spent several hours a day pouring over the contents of the books within this specific library. He had years to kill and he did so by studying the long history of the lands and every race that lived within it. He felt unsurprised that the man was well-educated, but what did shock him was the hours he still put into his studies. Murtagh noticed how badly his hand shook as he reached up to touch a book on the shelf. He curled the hand tightly trying to change his thought pattern.

_Still to early to be thinking of him with anything but distain,_ he thought.

_Think of something else for a while,_ Thorn advised softly. _Think about what you spoke to Nasuada about last night. You seemed happy when you returned. Something good must have happened._

_For the most part,_ he responded. _She told me something worthwhile_ _to consider._

_What is that?_

_She mentioned something called the Urgal Games._ Murtagh recalled their conversation the night before on her balcony. After their hesitant embrace, Rider and Queen took up seats upon the designed stone, speaking quietly about several things that both thought was important to discuss. He liked that they were breaking down years of distance between them, but while his opinion of their relationship was high, their actions showed otherwise. He knew they had a lot to catch up on, so he sat a decent distance away from her. By the time their talks had finished though, her knee was close enough to brush against his every time she moved. The shock that sparked through him set him on edge, lingering in his mind through the rest of the night.

_I apologize for distracting you from your lingering thoughts, Captain Lovestruck, but I am still curious about what this "Urgal Game" is. _ Murtagh rolled his eyes at Thorn's sarcastic teasing. Despite his light comments, he could feel the dragon's annoyance at being ignored.

_Sorry,_ the Rider apologized. _Nasuada explained it as Eragon's idea. It's supposed to be a way for the Urgals to transfer their lust for war into a more passive series of events where the compete for a title. As far as I know, all races are eligible to enter, and Nasuada sees it as a chance for economic recovery. The people really enjoy watching the games, and every place they've been held at has experienced an economic boost that has refunded their overall economy. Apparently that was an unexpected plus._

_It sounds… entertaining. _Thorn thought. _I would enjoy these games._

_I thought you might,_ Murtagh agreed, pulling out a book from the shelf. He flipped a few pages, distantly listening to Thorn's thoughts about the Urgal Games, his mind elsewhere. Closing the book with a solid thump, he made up his mind. _I want to go into town._

_I have always wanted to see the way Urgals contest each-wait, what?_ Thorn blanched. _Why?_

_I've been thinking about it since Nasuada gave me the idea. _The Rider claimed.

_No. Absolutely not, _the dragon protested. _We are an unwanted presence here. What if they harm you?_

_Then I shall defend myself,_ Murtagh responded. _Look, Nasuada was just mentioning it at the time, but I know that she wants us to try and take Eragon's place as the Dragon Rider of Alagaësia. She wants us to… help people. The way Eragon did. And I know it seems implausible, but… I'd like to do so as well. _

Thorn was silent for a while, and when he spoke again, there was a tremor in his voice. _I… am unsure._

_I as well,_ Murtagh admitted softly. _But we can't avoid this forever. Nasuada trusts us and wishes with all her heart that the people may come to rise above our past actions and accept us for who we are now. She's giving us the opportunity to do so, but it is our choice to make it happen. _His voice grew softer. _I know you want this, brother. You have told me so before. _

_I know,_ Thorn said. His voice was very quiet in the back of Murtagh's head. _Give me time to think on this. I… do not believe I am ready._

The Rider smiled to himself, knowing his dragon would give it the attention the idea deserved and come to the same conclusion he did. After all, they practically shared the same soul. _I understand, Thorn._

The dragon acknowledged his response before fading into the back of the Rider's mind. Murtagh knew he would be busy contemplating what was said, so he continued looking through the volumes of the library. After an extended period of time amongst the books, he took a couple along with the green Rider book back to the room Nasuada mentioned was his to use. The room was a nondescript one with simple furniture and a bed. His worn traveling bag was the only thing that he owned within the room. Nasuada had some clothes made for him so that he didn't stand out as much during the day, but Murtagh knew that to just be an act of kindness. He knew how badly he stuck out in the society.

He placed the books down upon the table within the room, glancing at the polished metal hanging upon the wall. It wasn't often that he looked upon his appearance, other than when he bathed, but when he did, he always questioned what about him looked different. Granted, he looked older, wiser, every time that he looked upon himself, but it wasn't until recently that he seemed to look… less burdened by the weight of the world. His shoulders slumped less than they used to, and the tense lines in his forehead began to disappear with time. He often wondered if the next time he saw himself he wouldn't recognize the face, like with the changes Eragon experienced. Yet, even after being bonded with Thorn for so long, Murtagh's ears remained rounded and his face retained the muscular features of a human rather than an elf. He figured Eragon's close association with the elves may have influenced such a rapid transformation for him, but the idea that he may suddenly change into a person he didn't recognize lingered in the back of his mind.

He rubbed his chin, noting the small stubble there before looking towards the joined washroom in his room. Having such close bathing quarters was something he had missed in his travels, but a luxury he could live without. He took a few moments to clean up, changing into a deep burgundy tunic hanging in the wardrobe Nasuada had offered. He felt more presentable and refreshed, but he had a mission for the day, and that wasn't to show off his charmingly good looks. Pulling a familiar cloak from his pack, he tucked it under his arm before exiting the room, the city in his sights.

He wasn't about to lie to himself; embracing a vengeful city wasn't something he willingly put himself down on the chopping block for. He felt the cold chill of fear deep inside his chest, but he knew from experience that avoiding the beast that stared you in the face would only get you killed. For the time being, he wished to lie as low as possible. He didn't need a full-on riot to start with him in the epicenter. As he approached the exit into the city from the castle, he pulled his cloak on, flipping the hood over his head before slipping past the guards. If there was one thing he learned well while traveling with Thorn, it was keeping to the shadows.

As he began his self-guided tour through the city, he started to notice a few key differences about the capitol he knew and the place it had become. Ilirea, unlike Uru'baen, had a low-lying buzz to it. The city, although still in disrepair, was thrumming with life. People passed on the streets, carrying their goods that they bought from the market, vending their own merchandise or just browsing around in general. People thronged together to speak to each other, merchant wives chatting as they shopped, men comparing their stock, and children chasing each other through the legs of the people. Murtagh pulled the hood of his cloak down a bit over his face, recalling the distinct dark ambiance that seemed to choke the life out of the people of Uru'baen. They would hardly speak during the rule of Galbatorix, going about their business with a sense of urgency rather than leisure and lightheartedness.

The Rider faded in with the crowd of people, drifting from vendor to vendor, feigning interest to the goods while he listened in to the people. Most spoke about mundane things, like the storm on the horizon, the quality of the milk being imported, but once in a while he'd find a conversation that sparked his interest. A talk about the upcoming Urgal Games, a brief whisper about an uprising in the Surda islands, and a semi-loud announcement about the arrival of the dreaded Red Dragon Rider followed by a chorus of hushes from the man's companions as they reminded him to stay quiet. He hung around to glean the information, and left before the gossiping citizens realized he was listening in.

As he reached the end of the market street he was well-informed about the latest topics of interest and had a clear understanding of the people's opinion on him. What did surprise him was the blatant respect the people had for their Queen. In her short rule, Nasuada was well received by her people and they spoke about her with an astonishing amount of concern and compassion. Even when they mentioned him, they expressed their confusion for Nasuada's natural acceptance of him, which in turn, affected their view on him. He was convinced they would hate him, but he came to realize that they were willing to see him through different eyes all thanks to the influence of their Queen. As he stood in the shadows of a recovering and changing city that he thought he once knew, he felt an incredible sense of awe towards the woman he knew. She was truly a woman of splendor.

He fell into an alleyway that was mostly deserted by people, lifting his hood back a bit to rub the bridge of his nose. It was all too much for him to take in. He realized that there was still much work to be done; regardless of intention, people were swayed by the loudest voices and those were the ones who trusted him the least. A tug at the sleeve of his cloak startled him out of his thoughts. He jumped slightly, scaring the small child that held a handful of the Rider's cloak. The boy sniffled loudly, his wide brown eyes filling with frightened tears.

"Sorry, sorry. Don't cry," Murtagh said quietly, unsure what to do. The boy sniffled loudly again, but bit his lip to keep himself from crying. The Rider suppressed a surprised smile at the boy's attempt at bravery, and knelt down to be on a lower level with the child. "What's wrong?"

The boy rubbed at his eyes roughly before answering. "Too many people. I lost my momma." Murtagh glanced over his shoulder at the busy market street behind him. It would take ages to find the child's mother, so he started to come up with a different plan.

"Do you know where you live?" he asked the child. The little boy nodded. "I can take you home and you can wait for your mother there. Does that sound okay?"

After a brief description of his home and his father's trade, Murtagh began leading the young boy to the blacksmithing places he knew around the area. The little boy kept a tight grip on the Rider's sleeve, scared that he might get swept away again by the sea of people. Murtagh realized that the boy must have been no older than five, just young enough to be a child free of Galbatorix's oppression. He slid his hand down to take the child's within his own. Eventually, the pair broke away from the mass of people, entering less populated areas of the city. The sudden lack of people left the Rider with a strange sense of awkwardness, like he was required to fill the empty space with pointless conversation.

"So, what are you called?" he asked the child.

"Eragon," he responded. Murtagh's jaw dropped involuntarily in surprise. "Brantsson, but Mom calls me Eri."

"Is that so," the Rider murmured. "And how old are you… Eragon?"

"Four and a half," he responded with enthusiasm. "I'm older than Jaxon by six days."

Murtagh nodded agreeably. "And, what interests you?"

"Lots of things!" the boy cheered. "I like horses and birds and feeding birds and drawing on paper and watching Mom cook and playing with my friends. Its fun."

"Do you like dragons?" the Rider asked. The boy went quiet quickly, his face nearly paling in color.

"No. I do not," he said quickly.

Murtagh frowned. "Why?"

"Because," the kid whispered. "My friends say that if you go outside when its dark that a dragon will swoop down and eat you."

"Do you really think that?" Murtagh asked. Eri nodded. "Did you know that you're namesake is a Dragon Rider?"

The boy stared at him with wide eyes. "Really?" he asked in a slightly frightened tone.

"It's nothing to be scared of," Murtagh told him. "I promise. I used to know him when I was younger." Even though he still held a bit of fear in his eyes, the boy stared up at him in wonder, like meeting somebody of great legend. Granted, Murtagh could be considered a legend for a completely different reason, but he didn't need the boy to hear of his own dark journey. "Eragon started out as a kid, just like you. When he was a little older, he met his dragon, Saphira. Both were warriors with big hearts and would save anybody who called for help. They were quite an admirable pair, and well-respected." Murtagh felt a bit distant as he recalled the brief, peaceful moments he spent traveling with Eragon.

"Were you eaten?" Eri asked innocently.

Murtagh chuckled. "Surprisingly, no. Saphira herself was a gentle and loving creature. Absolutely not scary at all."

A wide grin began to spread across the boy's face at his story. The Rider felt a sense of happiness that he managed to get the boy to see dragons in a different way, possibly for the better. Looking up, he noticed a small house with a blacksmith lean-to connected to the side. In front of it, a slight woman and burly man argued with each other, the woman's hands pressed to her face in sorrow.

"Is this where you live?" Murtagh asked the boy. Eri whipped his face around, his expression brightening at the sight of his parents.

"MOM!" he shouted, pulling his hand away from Murtagh's to run to his mother. The woman spun at the sound of her boy's voice, running to catch the boy against in her chest in palpable relief.

"Mommy!" Eri said in her arms. "That nice man took me home! He told me stories about dragons and Eragon!"

The woman looked up in gratefulness, her gratitude stuck in her throat when she took in Murtagh's appearance. The Rider took a hesitant step backwards, realizing that his hood had fallen sometime ago, exposing his face. A curl of doubt and fear rose up in his chest, anticipation for a scathing response almost too real for him to stay to hear. The woman watched him for a moment before her expression softened a bit, holding her child closer to her.

"Thank you, _Shur'tugal_," she voiced, her thankfulness unmistakable upon her face. Her words struck a chord in the Rider, and he stared at her for a long moment, shock written across his face.

"You…you're welcome," he whispered. He backed out quickly after that, his heart pounding loudly in his head. Ducking into a nearby alley way, Murtagh leaned his back against the wall, holding his arms tightly against his chest to accommodate the huge feeling building deep within it. A smile broke out unintentionally across his face, followed by a laugh so genuine it hurt.

"_Shur'tugal_," he repeated, tasting the word upon his tongue.

_Thorn,_ he called out to his dragon. _There's hope for us yet._


	7. Chapter 7

_Pömnuria Hjarta er medh Ono_

**A/N:** Thank you so much for the support! I wanted to give a HUGE shout out to all my worldly readers! It's so flattering to know so many people from so many countries are at least considering to read my story! You have no idea how it feels. Also, I apologize about my typos and mistakes. I don't catch them when I'm writing, but I'll try to be more aware of my errors so those who are annoyed by it don't have to suffer through it. That being said, I hope you're not put off by all the talking the characters are doing! There's much action planned for future chapters (some really soon) and I think you may appreciate the time it took to get to the more exciting events of this story. Keep up your lovely hopes for me!

I love my muse for being so awesome, but in all reality, she nearly wants me to end every chapter with a fruity magic dragon ride. ;) Regardless, she helps me write, which helps me update faster so you guys can read the new chapters. So, lots of thanks to Suma Susaki!

**Disclaimer**_**: **_I don't, and never will own Inheritance. But my version of Thorn is much funnier and I enjoy him a lot.

ENJOY!

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"You wish to _what_?" Jörmundur blanched. The Queen merely raised an eyebrow at her most trusted council member, waiting for him to think up an appropriate response to her suggestion. He pressed his lips together, drawing his brow into a frown. "You can't be serious, my Lady."

"Quite, actually," she responded calmly.

Jörmundur rubbed his forehead wearily, feeling less than comforted by his young Queen's decision. "I realize that you have much faith in the boy, but Murtagh Morzansson is a traitor and a murderer. To have him sit in on an important council meeting with the leaders of the land… It's unheard of! They would question your judgment in an instant! Everything we've worked towards would be instantly revoked and I refuse to see our hierarchy crumble because of _him_."

"Your worries are not unfounded," Nasuada admitted. "But Alagaësia _needs_ a Rider. With Eragon gone, you know as well as I how difficult it has been for us to reestablish the Empire under our new reign. Word travels so slowly and new enforcements are difficult to uphold when the people beyond our own city limits are so reluctant for change. Are you expecting me to ignore the opportunity that has literally fallen into our laps?"

"There must be other options than him," Jörmundur tried. "I realize that Arya is not an option beyond the woods of Du Weldonvarden, but what about the other elf riders? In a few years they could be trained to do the job that Eragon left behind."

"In a few years any budding uprisings that have been stewing for years will be too large for any young Rider to handle," Nasuada snapped. "Eragon has not abandoned us. He has his own duties to uphold to better our nation in his own way. He will come to our aid if the need is great enough. Murtagh is here now. He could be essential to helping this nation come together in the way we need it to and we'd be foolish not to consider his help."

The older man sat back in the chair he had pulled up to the council table in the throne room beside Nasuada. When she requested for him to meet her there, he had figured she would want to discuss the Red Rider. He didn't imagine the extensiveness of her plans for him. He glanced back over at the Queen's chair, taking in her calm and patient exterior as she awaited his response. _How beautifully admirable you've become in your years, Nasuada,_ he thought.

"Your intentions are quite clear, my Lady," he said wearily. "But I am afraid others will not see everything quite the way you do. They will need a more… _direct_ sort of convincing."

"And what might you suggest I do?" the Queen inquired, folding her hands beneath her chin. The man folded his arms comfortably.

"Nothing."

Nasuada stared at him. "Nothing?"

"Nothing," Jörmundur agreed. "If you expect the leaders to trust him as an accepted Rider of Alagaësia, then he must be the one to prove to them _why _they should trust him. You've placed him upon a long and difficult path, regardless of your intentions, and if he chooses to follow the path open before him, he will experience many trials and disappointments. Changing the opinion of all the people in a nation from a murderer to a protector is a feat most men could never even touch upon."

"Murtagh is no mere man," Nasuada said, confidence lacing her voice. "Of all people I've come to know, he is the most unfortunate by means of fate, but despite his trails and obstacles, he has learned to rise above the unfavorable. Of all men, he will be the one to rise to the challenge."

Jörmundur smiled to himself. "If anybody could convince them of his potential redemption, it would be you, my Queen," he said. "I just hope they are open enough to your ideas."

. . . . . . . . . . . . . .

There was something quite relaxing about the dragon keep now that the castle was no longer Galbatorix's. It was an extensive room with so many possible places for Thorn to go, but despite the options, the dragon chose to spend his time on the floor closest to the door. He remembered countless long nights that he spent in keep curled up in a small top cave, disturbed from sleep by the deep rumble of the great black dragon as he slowly moved his way out of the castle to fly the skies at night. He would go every night. The doors would open with a heavy thump and the sound of Shruikan's scales sliding across the stone as he exited the castle would reverberate against the cold stone walls loud enough for him to hear from his cave. Thorn recalled curling as close to himself as possible, watching with unrested nerves incase the dragon would choose attack him for his next meal. He had touched the older dragon's mind only once when he was merely a hatchling, but the dragon's mind was much too dark for him to handle. It took weeks talking with Murtagh to calm Thorn down enough not to bolt at the merest sight of him. Thorn always took refuge in the dragon's keep since the larger dragon had outgrown it years before Thorn's egg was laid, and he felt safest in a place where he knew he couldn't be reached.

Despite the fear he had of him, Thorn never felt a sense of hate for the black dragon, only sadness. He knew that the dragon wished more than anything to escape the world he was forced into, to escape the madness that controlled his mind every day. When Thorn had helped Saphira distract him long enough that the Elf-Queen could pierce him in the eye, he had prayed that the poor beast might find salvation and peace in the world that came after. He knew in his heart that they were doing Shruikan a favor, and he'd never since then forgotten it.

In their time away from the land that they learned to fear and hate, Thorn realized that there was much more to the world than the darkness that seemed to follow him around under the rule of Galbatorix. Many nights he and his Rider stayed up talking through everything that ailed them, anything that pulled against the insides of their hearts or screamed in the back of their minds, and for the first two years, that was all they did. They flew, they talked, and they started to find peace. Thorn learned of kindness vicariously through Murtagh as he spoke to the people of the lands they visited, and learned to let what darkened his mind fade away into the past. He may have been born into a life of torture, but the outcome turned out good. He had his Rider, and that was all he ever needed.

Over time, like their true names, their relationship began to change. When he was younger, Murtagh was his beacon of light, his only connection to a world that was sane in his mind, and he knew his presence brought the same desperate comfort to Murtagh as well. Their connection was built upon a foundation of need, of a desperate desire for something real amongst the fog of insanity. As they traveled the world on a whim that was their own, Thorn began to feel less burdened by the life he lived, and began to accept the more lighthearted aspects of life. Murtagh took more convincing, but as a pair, they waded their way back into the rays of the sun.

Despite their progress, the return to Alagaësia wasn't one he wanted. Their reluctance was clear amongst the desperation, but Thorn could feel his wings shake as he counted the peaks of the Spine. They had begun to heal, and he knew they were better than before, but neither could deny the distinct aversion to the land of their birth. Thorn felt more distrustful in the valley overlooking Uru'baen, nervous as he watched his Rider make his return to the city of their hate by himself. He could count the following night of silence as one upon his list of worst experiences in his life.

But laying in the hay within the dragon keep, Thorn felt a small sense of comfort. The place still unnerved him, and sleep did not come easily, but he felt much safer than before. He knew Murtagh was busy looking up information in the libraries, and risking his well-being in turn for a chance to see a new side of the people he once hated, but he still felt uneasy without his Rider by his side. In his time away, he had thought over Murtagh's suggestion a multitude of times, realizing that despite his anxiety to confront his demons, he wanted it just as badly as Murtagh did. He had a feeling that his Rider would know his response before he gave it, so he kept to himself for the afternoon, flying the corridor that led to the keep for exercise. He was preparing to lie his head down to wait for Murtagh's return when he received an unexpected visitor.

"I hope I'm not disturbing you," the Queen said quietly, closing the door softly behind her. Thorn lifted his head in response, noting that her guards did not follow her inside the keep. He eyed her suspiciously for a short moment before replacing his head on the hay with a small sigh. Nasuada correctly took the response as an invite, moving closer to where he lay. "I came looking for your Rider, but I'm assuming he's out somewhere else?" she inquired.

_He should be back soon_, Thorn offered timidly. He was still unused to the idea of opening his mind to people other than Murtagh, but the Queen's mind was one of kind firmness, and the solidity gave him some comfort. She smiled at the sound of his voice, which put a warm feeling inside his chest.

"Thank you for your knowledge," she told him kindly. "I hope it's not too much to ask, but may I share some time in here? Even a Queen needs to escape the world every once in a while."

_You are welcome,_ Thorn told her. She nodded in gratitude, taking up a place in the hay beside him. Unlike the last time she sat beside him, she sat farther away from him, giving him some space. He didn't mind her presence, but he did appreciate her mindfulness of how he may feel about her.

"Are you comfortable here?" Nasuada asked, glancing around the keep to be sure everything was being kept well-stocked.

_Yes, thank you. The hay is warm and the water clean,_ Thorn responded.

"That's good," she nodded. "Aren't you getting hungry? I could have some venison brought up for you to eat, if you'd like."

_There is no need for that. I will hunt in a few days when my belly craves it._ Nasuada nodded understandingly. _But thank you._

"You are quite polite," she noted. The dragon stirred a bit in embarrassment.

_No reason not to be,_ he responded logically. She smiled.

"It's nice," she commented. "I suppose since your Rider isn't here, I could ask you what I meant to ask him."

_Is it about what you were speaking of in the Throne Room?_ he inquired.

Nasuada smiled. "I see there are little secrets left for me to tell you."

_I was not listening in on purpose, but I cannot deny that I was paying attention. _Thorn admitted. _Your words reverberate through the keep. _

"I see," she said. "And what is your opinion?"

_It may be too early to have us at your meeting, Majesty, _the dragon said bluntly. _But I know Murtagh intends to try and make a difference in_ _Alagaësia, if just to find acceptance among those we consider our people. He, and I, want to see it through that we could fly to any part of the land and find quiet acceptance and peace. It may be a hard-reached dream, but it is ours. Forcing acceptance would not be the best course of action._

Nasuada took a moment to digest his words. The dragon watched her from where he laid his head, taking note of the small changes amid her expression. He realized that she accepted what he told her with aplomb and consideration, but she wasn't about to give up with her initial plan. He felt some admiration for her tenacity.

"I understand," she spoke thoughtfully. "And I will keep that in consideration for what I plan for the future. I noticed that you both seem much… calmer than the last time we spoke after the battle with Galbatorix. I know you had a hard time when you were under his control, I'm happy things are better for you now."

Thorn noted her change of topic, but accepted it gracefully. He knew she'd be interested in what had changed for them, but he had expected her to ask Murtagh, not him. The shift in his expectations left him feeling quite shy.

_We saw a lot of what the world had to offer on our travels. There was more than the darkness that we experienced in Uru'baen, and that helped us let go of most of our anger._ Thorn thought for a moment. _Also, Murtagh spoke of you a lot. But don't tell him that I told you that._

She blushed prettily, a lovely bright hue lighting up her dark cheeks. "Is that so," she said quietly. "It'll be our secret then."

The dragon lifted his head off the ground so that he could view the Queen better. _Could I request something of you, Nasuada-Queen?_ he inquired. Nasuada recognized the serious tone in his voice, nodding her head in response. _My Rider is one with a fragile heart. Despite what we've done, he feels the effects of his actions deep within him, and he tries to hide how greatly it hurts him. If there is a way… I would request for you to accept him for how he is and remain as a solid support on the days that he may fall under the pressure of his own past. You ask so much of him, this should be adequate request in return._

Nasuada thought for a long moment, observing the dragon before her in what Thorn thought to be different eyes. He shifted uncomfortably waiting for her response. "You care for him greatly, don't you, Thorn?" she finally asked.

The dragon ducked his head in slight embarrassment. _He is my brother in every way except appearance. _

"Every time I have the privilege to meet another of your kind, I am pleasantly surprised every time," Nasuada admitted. "You have a beautiful soul, Thorn, and I will gladly do as you ask."

_Thank you, Majesty,_ he told her genuinely. He leaned down to touch his nose against her brow, a soft an affectionate motion that was not lost upon the Queen. Thorn pulled back after the short moment, tucking his head against his body in a brief moment of shyness. It was weird for him to express such open gentleness to anyone other than his Rider, but he felt like she deserved to know how much he appreciated her commitment. _That's all I ask,_ he told her quietly. _You may ask me anything you wish, if you'd like._

"Thank you," she responded. "I am curious about your travels, which I'm sure you recognize. You have grown much since I last saw you, which is unsurprising." She cast a glance along the spine of Thorn, her gaze slightly unnerving him. He hadn't had unfamiliar eyes looking at him so closely for years. He worried what she might think of the scars he still bore upon his hide. "Your tail," Nasuada said, noticing the unnatural and ragged heal upon the thick base of his tail, cutting it off short just a few feet from the length she expected his tail to be. Thorn slowly moved it away from her view, hiding it behind his body. "Did that happen on your travels?" she inquired.

_No. It's much older,_ he responded with a touch of deep set remorse. _I keep it as a reminder. One that I deserve more than any other. _He recalled the battle he received his injury, the pain that shot through his body like liquid fire as the great golden dragon snapped off the end of his tail with his great maw. Murtagh had asked him once if he wanted it healed, but Thorn had refused. It was his burden to carry, knowing that he had killed the last of the Old dragons. He could tell when he glanced over at the Queen that she realized what he referred to. _We all have our scars to carry,_ he told her, noticing her glance down at her own forearms hidden by the silky fabric of her dress. _Some more meaningful than others. _

"I see…" she whispered. "And this shapes you as a character? You _and_ Murtagh?"

_You as well, Nasuada-Queen,_ Thorn reminded her. _We are all learning what is significant enough to continue to remember, and what is worth living for. _

"You sound as though you found peace beyond the borders of Alagaësia," she said quietly. "Why did you return?"

_There are many things we have not told you, Majesty,_ Thorn told her, meeting her eyes again. _The biggest perhaps the reason we have returned. Up until now, we did not believe we were ready to face the people who scorned us, and to be honest, I still do not believe we are ready._ Nasuada listened closely to the words Thorn offered was surprised he was even forthcoming with the knowledge at all, especially with how vague and stubborn Murtagh was about it.

_During our travels we went far and wide, even trying to cross the great sea by ourselves. We paid heed to every warning given to us, but found ourselves walking into danger by our own curiosity. I regret such a foolhardy decision now, but regret does nothing to solve our problem,_ Thorn cringed as his voice started to sound a tad desperate. _We need your help, Nasuada-Queen. _

"What could you possibly need my help with?" the Queen asked, feeling on edge by what the dragon was telling her.

Thorn lowered his head in a pleading manner, one that burned against his pride as a dragon, but there was only so much he could do to help his Rider. _We need information, knowledge, anything that may help us figure out what may have happened and how to break its hold on Murtagh._

Nasuada's face paled at the knowledge. "Break what?"

Thorn's eyes bore into hers, a strange look of distress coloring the dragon's ruby eyes. _The curse of the Urgal King._


	8. Chapter 8

_Pömnuria Hjarta er medh Ono_

**A/N:** Thank you, once again, for all your fantastic reviews! We've nearly reached triple digits, and I can't express to you ENOUGH, how honored that makes Suma and I feel. We're aiming to keep this as in-character as possible by including as many canon details as possible, but I'm going to warn all of you now. This story is my own, which means it may get a little crazy or fork off in a direction that you may not prefer. If you wish to continue to see how this story plays out, regardless of where my creative mind may take us, I can't wait to go on this journey with you. As always, you guys are the bread that holds this whole sandwich together, and I THANK you for it! Thank you so much, and prepare for so much more!

**Disclaimer: **Lets be honest. How much would actually get accomplished if I wrote Inheritance? It definitely wouldn't be as action packed. Not mine.

ENJOY!

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As Murtagh walked the halls of the castle, headed for the Dragon's keep, he couldn't deny that he felt more alive than he had in ages. He could hear the echo of the woman's words floating around his mind, putting an extra gait in his step. He hadn't stuck around to listen in to any more of the citizen's conversations, choosing instead to make his way back to the castle as quickly and quietly as he could.

Thorn hadn't said much in response to his announcement, the dragon seemingly preoccupied with something else, and he was curious to know Thorn's take on what had happened and his opinion on their conversation earlier that day. With _The Legacy of Dragon Riders_ tucked underneath his arm, Murtagh entered the keep, pausing in surprise when he saw the Queen sitting beside the large red dragon. Both looked up to meet his curious eyes, dread pooling in his stomach at the expression upon Nasuada's face.

"What's going on…?" he asked cautiously, entering the door slowly. The door closed with a solid thump before anybody spoke.

"A curse?" she asked, her voice tight. Murtagh pressed his lips together unable to respond to the heavy question. He assumed that Thorn must have told her the truth, which he figured the dragon might if they ever had the chance to speak. He wasn't trying to conceal their true reason for returning to Alagaësia; he felt more weary about her perception of his situation. There was no good time to deliver bad news, but he had hoped to prolong the inevitable for a while longer.

"Why didn't you tell me you were cursed?" Nasuada asked sternly, a hint of hurt coloring the undertone of her voice.

"There are better things worth worrying over," he said quietly. "You have your concerns and I have mine."

"I figure I'd have the right to worry about this," Nasuada responded. "A curse is not the kind of thing you can just place off to the side."

"Why shouldn't I?" Murtagh snapped. "It's no different than anything else fate has graced me with. It was only a matter of time before something would catch up with me. I'm surprised I've lasted this long."

The Queen tried to hide a flinch. "How could you say that?" she whispered. "You have things to live for. Are you really so willing to sacrifice what good things you have in your life?"

Murtagh stayed silent, noting when the distant, but calming feel of Thorn's mind brushed against his to be sure he was okay. He could tell they were worried. Trying to pull himself off the darker train of thought his mind was on, he sighed lightly, letting his shoulders slump a bit out of the tense hold they were originally in.

"There are still things that follow me in the dark corners of my mind regardless of how hard I try to run," he admitted softly. "I'm sorry."

"Nobody blames you," the Queen told him. He met her eyes hopefully. Thorn lowered his head closer to where Nasuada sat, gesturing to the space beside her.

_Come closer, __bróðir__,_ he said softly in Murtagh's mind. _You need not feel alone when you are steps away from comfort. _

Murtagh swayed on his feet indecisively before cautiously moving closer, folding his legs as he took up a seat between the both of them. Thorn nudged him gently with his nose, breathing warm air over his hair comfortingly. The Rider reached up to touch his scaly jaw, hugging him close. While he hugged his dragon, he was surprised to feel hesitant fingers brush upon the back of his free hand as Nasuada placed her hand over his. Nerves brought sweat to his palm, his heart pounding so loudly in his chest, he was afraid she might hear it. But when he looked at her, she merely smiled, squeezing his fingers within her own.

"I will help you, Murtagh," she told him firmly. He let his eyes fall from hers, but allowed his fingers to curl gently around the ones placed upon his hand.

"Thank you," he whispered.

_We should tell her,_ Thorn thought softly. Murtagh agreed.

_Help me tell it?_ he inquired. The dragon nodded gently into his Rider's shoulder. Murtagh sighed lightly, squaring his shoulders a bit. "I don't want you to think less of me for what we got ourselves into," he told Nasuada. She watched him, listening intently to the words he started to speak. "We managed to avoid most conflict in our time away, but this wasn't something we could anticipate. We happened upon something that caught our interest, and that's how this all started to fall into place. By the time we realized something was wrong, it was too late."

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

The air was crisp in his lungs, the wind blowing encouragingly across his face, whipping his lengthy hair behind him. The water rushed swiftly beneath them, Thorn's powerful wing muscles pumped as he flew, twice as fast as normal. Murtagh could feel the anticipation bubbling within his chest, matched by the dragon's own rapidly increasing pace. They were excited. For the first time in days, a stretch of land crawled across the horizon, growing larger as they flew closer to the distant terrain. It was a spur of the moment decision backed by months of desire for them to cross the Great Sea. They had no idea what to find beyond the endless length of crashing blue, but they couldn't deny their curiosity. After a week's worth of island hopping, they were finally starting to see the largest tract of land yet, and that encouraged them.

_What do you think we will find?_ Thorn asked excitedly.

_People, most likely,_ Murtagh responded. _Different from us, perhaps. Free from the lands of oppression that we've come to know. Free from the influence of Galbatorix._

_I hope such a land exists,_ the dragon responded, a solemn note lingering in his tone.

_I as well,_ the Rider agreed. _But first, we'll find food._

_Best idea you have had since we left the larger land,_ Thorn commented.

_What's that supposed to mean? You wanted to fly across the sea as well!_ Murtagh rebutted.

_I did, but that was before I realized how far that would be,_ the dragon commented. Murtagh paused, noticing the way Thorn's hide would shake with the effort of sustaining flight, and the tired way his wings would flap. _Do not dare think of me as weak again, or I shall bite off one of your fingers._

_Just one?_ Murtagh laughed.

_You need to defend yourself somehow. I'll leave you your thumb._

_You're so kind,_ the Rider commented dryly. _Land at the soonest opportunity. We'll figure out shelter after we rest. _

Thorn didn't respond, but pushed through his exhaustion, flying faster towards the land. It didn't take them much longer to finally swoop over the tips of trees, casting a large shadow over the expanse of dense forest beneath them. The trees finally opened into a large valley backed up against sharp cliff sides, a decent sized river cutting through the expanse of yellow, dormant grasses. Thorn glided his way towards the river, kicking up dust and dead grass with the heavy wingbeats of his landing. Murtagh grunted when they finally touched down, Thorn's heavy breathing finally reaching his ears. The dragon didn't even wait for his Rider to get down before he waded over to the river, dunking his head in the cool water, loudly sucking in the clear liquid.

Murtagh carefully unbuckled his legs from the saddle straps, stretching his stiff knees and muscles as he slid off Thorn's back. He landed heavily, forcing himself to stand up through his discomfort before walking towards the river himself. Thorn glanced up at him briefly, continuing his long drink of water without pause. Murtagh smiled, rubbing the scales at the base of the dragon's neck before pulling the pack off his shoulders. The heavy bag thumped loudly in the thick grass, giving the Rider a chance to stretch his shoulders a bit. It had been a while since they had rested; he had lost track of time after they left the last island in the Great Sea.

"Is the water good?" he asked Thorn, pulling out his own waterskin. The dragon rumbled deep in his chest, indicating a positive response. Murtagh walked over to the edge of the water, dipping his skin in to collect the water. As he waited, he cast a glance around the valley that they had landed in. The cliff sides that surrounded the grassy opening gave way into medium sized mountains, slightly smaller than the Spine, continuing on for as far as his eyes could see. There were large gorges that split the sides of the cliffs, opening to deep dark crevices through the rock that remained dark even under the shine of the sun. At the base of one of these chasms, a strange statue made of wood stood unaccompanied at the entrance, catching Murtagh's gaze. He could almost make out similar statues dotting along the path the gorge created.

"What's that?" he asked aloud. Thorn finally finished his drink, lifting his head from the river.

_What is what?_ he inquired, trying to follow Murtagh's gaze.

"Over by the opening in the rock," the Rider said, standing up. "There's something by the entrance."

Thorn took a moment to stare at the figure in the distance. _Should we investigate?_

"Is there a reason to ask?" Murtagh responded, grinning. He grabbed his bag, hefting it over his shoulder again before climbing swiftly back into the saddle on Thorn's back. The dragon crouched lowly before powerfully launching himself into the air, snapping his wings open so that they glided across the tumbling waters of the river. He landed soon after, trotting in his momentum until Murtagh slid off the dragon's back, starting his own pace towards the gorge. Thorn easily fell into step with him. Among their travels, investigating things that interested them was what they did best. There was so much more beyond what Alagaësia had offered them, and they had learned so much from doing exactly that. It was never a question of should they investigate, but where would they look next.

"Are you alright? We can stop whenever you want and investigate it some other time," the Rider asked, remembering that Thorn was wishing for a rest. The dragon merely lifted his head in defiance, ignoring his Rider's question. Murtagh shook his head, knowing that his dragon's pride and curiosity always outweighed his exhaustion.

They traveled for a while, growing closer to the opening in the rock face. From this vantage point, Murtagh could tell that the statue he spied from afar was more than just a statue. It was a tall wooden carving that reached up to nearly ten feet. There was a grotesque head with horns carved into the top of the pole, followed by designs that spiraled down to the base of the wooden column. He could now clearly see that there were similar structures disappearing into the darkness within the chasm, smaller statues joining them the deeper it ran. He felt his curiosity rise, and picked up the pace to reach his destination faster.

When they finally arrived at the opening, the walls of rock towered above them, casting a shadow over they pair as they slowed to a stop in front of the carved pole. Murtagh stared at it, gently running his fingers over the carved wood. Up close, he could tell that it was more than just carvings of designs on the pole, there were whole pictures storyboarded out along the length of the pillar. He leaned closer, trying to depict what it played out.

_What are they?_ Thorn inquired.

"I think they're… Urgals," Murtagh responded, touching the small horned creature carved into the wood. Several others were carved behind it, all holding spears and chasing after a very large boar that was nearly the same size as them. The pillar continued on to depict more battles of gore and glory, Urgals reigning true to their conflict-thirsty nature. The Rider stepped away, looking at the other wooden poles leading the way down the dark gorge. From where he stood, he could tell that they were just as intricately carved as the first. He had never thought Urgals could be so crudely artistic. "What did we find?" he asked in wonder.

_One way to find out,_ Thorn announced, pressing forward. Murtagh grinned to himself, following after his adventurous dragon. The longer they walked within the gorge, the deeper and darker it became. Eventually, there was only a eerie cast of light that lit the whole area, dotted with Urgal poles and carvings. The deeper they walked, the more they started to see thick sticks woven together and pressed deep into the ground. Words in the Urgal language were drawn into the woven sticks, telling a story he would never understand. The cavern began to widen in size the deeper they walked, more and more of the woven sticks protruding from the ground.

"They're almost like… graves," Murtagh commented, eyeing the vast collection of wooden structures in the area. They were wide spread, growing denser the deeper the cavern became, tall carved poles rising up intermittent between them like silent guardians. "An Urgal graveyard," he whispered. They stopped after a while, the wooden grave markers too dense for a dragon to walk through without crushing them. In the distance, they could see a deep hole dug into the back rock of the walls surrounding them, Urgal designs and words drawn into the stone itself, surrounding the opening of the cave. Its opening was dark and yawning, darker than anything else around the area. "Wait here," Murtagh told Thorn. "I'll go look."

_Be careful,_ the dragon commented. The Rider nodded, weaving his way through the silent grave markers. As he approached the chasm in the wall, he noted that very little light shone within the depths of the cave. He glanced around the edge of the cave, noting the pictures detailed into the walls. He saw a reoccurring theme of a large Urgal, much larger than any that he had seen drawn before. Curious, he reached into his bag, pulling out a short stick with wrapped hay around one end.

"_Brisingr_," he whispered, watching as the hay ignited itself, burning until the stick became a torch. He took one last look at Thorn before carefully descending into the darkness of the cave. He immediately realized that this was more than just a cave in a wall, for stairs were crudely cut out of the stone walls, descending deeper. More drawings and pictures were cut into the walls as the stairs disappeared into darkness. Cautiously touching the hilt of Zar'roc for comfort, the Rider began to follow the steps, unsure of what he'd come to find.

After a while and quite a few steps down, the corridor began to widen, opening up to a huge dark room that wouldn't light with the small fire Murtagh carried. Just a few steps away from where he stood, he noticed a small sliver of light coming through from far above, winking off of a metallic surface on the ground. Watching his step, the Rider wandered over to where the light hit the surface, realizing it was a polished metal surface mounted on a stand. He touched the surface lightly, causing it to slowly turn towards the ground, sending the beam of light reflecting into the room. It hit another metal surface in the distance, bouncing the beam of light all around the room, lighting it up with a strange long-forgotten iridescence.

Dust floated around the room as Murtagh looked up to the ceiling, seeing the natural carve of the rock, stalactites hanging silently from the natural roof. Finally looking around the expanse of the opening, Murtagh realized just how vast the place really was. More woven grave markers dotted the expanse of the room, but there was a distinct pattern to them. A path opened up between the rows of graves, leading his eyes into the depths of the room, showing him a giant abyss on the far side of the room. He noticed that the path lead to the abyss, a single narrow stone path passing over the deep pit. From where he stood, he could see a large structure on the far side of the pit, backed against a far wall, the skeleton of a large waterfall trickling in the distance.

_Are you seeing this?_ he asked his dragon, sending pictures of what he saw Thorn's way. He could feel Thorn's amazement in the back of his mind, making him smile a bit. The Rider glanced off to the side, seeing the staircase to lead him downwards toward the path.

Murtagh wandered down the lines of graves, his boots crunching over the long unwalked pathway between them, noting the eerie silence that suffocated the whole place. The carved Urgal poles that dotted the lands seemed to stare him down as he walked by, their sightless eyes following him as he passed. He eyed them suspiciously, feeling less than comfortable within the confines of the cave.

_Something doesn't feel right about this place,_ he told Thorn.

_What is it?_ the dragon inquired.

_Everything feels… tense. I feel as though I'm being watched. _Murtagh cast his eyes around the area cautiously, his eyes lingering on the darker corners unlit by the connection of light.

_Watched by what?_ Thorn asked, slightly anxious. Murtagh paused, turning to stare into the silent area behind him.

_Nothing,_ he thought suspiciously. He could feel Thorn's confusion, but turned to continue his way down the path towards the abyss. He wasn't about to let some jittery nerves chase him out of investigating something interesting. He had faced scarier things within his lifetime. He pressed forward, finally reaching the pit. He leaned to see of the edge, noting the gaping darkness that made it impossible to see very far down. He kicked a pebble off the edge, hoping to hear it hit the ground, but no sound came. He glanced away, turning observe the narrow stone bridge that reached the other side. There was nothing safe about it. The edges dropped off dangerously, some of the stone crumbling away from age and the width of it was no more than a few paces wide. When he looked up, he could see the essential shape of what the waterfall used to be carved into the wall. All that was left was a small, dripping trickle that fell soundlessly into the abyss below.

Directly across from where he stood, he finally noticed the reason for the bridge. Flanked by two of the largest Urgal pillars yet, a wooden throne rose up from within the stone of the wall in an alcove that would be shrouded by the waterfall if it were at the peak of its life. From where he stood, Murtagh could tell that there was something situated behind the woven wood of the throne. Something bigger.

Carefully securing his pack upon his back, Murtagh slowly started to make his way across the dangerous bridge. The Urgal heads carved into the pillars that guarded the throne stared him down as he made his way across the last few inches of bridge. Stepping closer, he observed the intricate weaving of bark and wood making up the back of the throne for a few moments before turning to see what was hidden behind it. In an alcove smaller than the one that held the chair, a large stone tomb sat unadorned, a single word in the Urgal language chiseled into the surface.

_I wish I could understand this,_ he thought towards Thorn. He reached out to touch the engraved name, flinching back at the shock of electricity that shot up through his hand. Rubbing his stinging hand, the Rider took one last look at the tomb before turning to leave. As he walked past the throne again, something different caught his eye. Sitting in the wide chair, an Urgal larger than any he had ever seen before stared him down with nearly black colored eyes. Startled, Murtagh yanked Zar'roc out of its sheath, holding it defensively as the huge Urgal growled low, a flash of sharp, rotting teeth appearing behind grey lips.

_There are Urgals here!_ Murtagh alerted Thorn. He could feel the dragon's anxiety shoot up while he stared down the unmoving Urgal. He noted that the kull seemed much older than any he'd ever seen before, long grey hair falling down the Urgal's back, and he could see that the Urgal's skin was wrinkled and leather-like with age. Its claws were long and black, curling over the edge of the armrests they sat upon. Murtagh noticed that the horns atop the Urgal's head were huge, spiraling around each other several times as they came to frame its face. The great Urgal continued to stare him down relentlessly. The Rider cast a quick glance at the narrow bridge, gaging the distance it was from where he stood.

"Ach neo sókn eka, Urgralgra. Eka hyggja neinn haina," Murtagh said, trying to convince the Urgal out of an attack. The Urgal merely stared at him. Murtagh repeated himself, hoping that it was just a matter of hearing. Without a response the second time, the Rider started to realize that the Urgal sitting in the chair beside him was not going to listen to anything he said. Grunting out a guttural phrase in a language Murtagh didn't understand, the old kull slowly rose from where he sat, pulling himself to his full intimidating height, which nearly reached the tops of the carved poles beside him. Without giving it time to think, Murtagh turned on his heel and ran for the bridge.

_Thorn!_ Murtagh called. _Please tell me there aren't Urgals out there!_ His feet pounded loudly across the stone bridge as he crossed it, and he gripped Zar'roc tighter as he started to notice more Urgal faces standing out in the grounds the graves were placed upon. _They're everywhere in here!_

_Nothing out here. I can't smell anything, but I have a very bad feeling. Get out of there quickly! _Thorn responded. Murtagh acknowledged his dragon as his feet left the bridge. He continued to run, noticing the crowd of Urgals that stood silently amongst the graves around him. Every time he looked away, more seemed to show up. Feeling a sense of dread, he cast a glance over his shoulder. The large Urgal was nearly breathing down the back of the Rider's neck. Reacting on instinct alone, Murtagh turned swiftly, lashing out at the extended arm of the Urgal with Zar'roc. He watched in muted horror as the blade merely passed through the Urgal harmlessly. The beady dark eyes never left his as the Urgal's arm passed formlessly past his guard, pushing forcefully into Murtagh's stomach. The Rider lost his footing, falling back from the attack, watching in belated shock as the huge Urgal simply faded away as if a gust of wind had blown his particles away. There was no blood, and no wound, but when the Rider finally hit the ground, there was pain. Agonizing pain.

Murtagh could hear Thorn's outraged roar from outside, and the assault of questions from within his mind, but he couldn't focus. He yelled out into the humongous empty room, clutching his stomach with both arms. He felt as though hot irons were burning him from within, nearly tearing him apart piece by piece. Zar'roc lay uselessly on the stone path beside him, glinting in the limited lighting and as Murtagh forced his eyes open, it reminded him that he was not going to die here. What use was it to make it through so much of his life to die in a cavern deep within mountains he didn't even know, without his dragon? He heard Thorn roar again in the distance, and forced himself to grab his sword.

He pushed himself upon his knees, nearly collapsing under the sheer pain erupting from within him, causing him to clench his side so painfully that he nearly wounded himself trying to alleviate it.

"Waíse heill," he murmured, hoping the agony would fade. The pain that followed was nearly enough to kill him right then. He shouted out the Name in desperation, canceling the spell. The pain faded back into it's initial intensity, leaving Murtagh desperately gasping for air. Agonized tears fell down his cheeks from the sheer torture of it all. He knew he had been through worse, but everything he lived through seemed like a distant memory within the moment.

"Thorn…" he whispered. He could hear the dragon desperately calling out to him, waiting for him to respond to know that he was still okay. Anything. Anything at all. Pushing through the pain, Murtagh reminded himself of his purpose and found the strength within him to stand upon his feet.

The journey out was one of the most challenging moments of his life. Every step that he took reverberated through his body, and by the time he reached the opening in the cave, his knees shook harder than a sapling in a windstorm. Thorn roared loudly upon seeing his Rider, swooping down from his anxious flight to land among the grave markers.

_WHAT HAPPENED? _the dragon roared through their link. Murtagh let his knees fall from beneath him, collapsing onto the damp ground. He curled into a ball, whispers of agony escaping his lips. Thorn made his way closer, avoiding the grave markers that he could, reaching out his nose to his Rider. _Please, __bróðir__. Say something. _

Murtagh didn't respond. Thorn nudged him lightly, pulling a suffering cry from his Rider's lips. The dragon flinched back wearily, a low whine escaping his maw. He carefully nudged Murtagh again, making the Rider roll onto his back. The man squeezed his eyes shut, tears leaking from the corners to fall down the sides of his face. Thorn gently touched his nose to the Rider's cheek, hoping to provide comfort. Murtagh rose a shaking hand to touch the underside of Thorn's jaw, giving him the only answer he could.

Regardless of what may have happened to his Rider, Thorn was more than determined to keep it from ailing him so badly. Removing his nose from Murtagh, he carefully replaced it upon his Rider's stomach. Breathing a cascade of warm air over his Rider, Thorn felt his natural magic begin to kick in. He shuttered at the intense pain that snaked its way down the dragon's spine to settle deeply within his stomach.

Murtagh took a slow, deep breath, realizing that the pain had lessened significantly. He pulled his eyes open, turning to look at Thorn. The dragon had his head tucked down, his eyes squeezed closed. It wasn't hard for him to figure out what Thorn had done.

"Thorn," he cried softly, his voice cracking against his will at the emotion he tried to contain. "You stubborn fool! Why did you do that?"

_Better me than you,_ the dragon told him with a hint of dark humor in his voice. _I could not take it all, but this way you do not have to suffer. I am bigger than you. I can handle it better._

Murtagh pressed his hands into his eyes, trying to hide the tears that betrayed him. He hiccuped softly, the emotion nearly overwhelming him. He felt the brush of Thorn's nose against his arm, reminding him that he was there, still willing to provide as much comfort as was needed. Pushed himself up into a sitting position so he could wrap his arms around the dragon's head as far as they would go. The dragon mentally hugged him back.

"Why is it so hard for us to find peace?"

. . . . . . . . . . . . . .

bróðir: brother

Ach neo sókn eka, Urgralgra. Eka hyggja neinn haina.: Do not fight me, Urgal. I intend no harm.

Waíse heill: be healed (the healing spell)


	9. Chapter 9

_Pömnuria Hjarta er medh Ono_

**A/N: **a;sdlkfja;slkdfj;aksj XD Over 110 reviews! You guys are awesome. Thank you so much! Forgive me for the varying chapter lengths. Chapter 8 was an unusual circumstance, and while I've topped myself with longer and longer chapters as the story continues on, I'm not sure I can totally keep that up. So, don't get too upset if chapters are shorter. Also, my muse has finally gotten her way with me. Damn. XD

**Disclaimer**:If I wrote _Inheritance_, there would be a whole lot less of AWESOME and a whole lot more D'AWW moments. Why? Because that's what I write best! Not mine.

ENJOY!

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

"Is it still painful?" Murtagh looked over at the woman who stood beside him. "Your curse, I mean."

It had been a few days since Murtagh and Thorn had told Nasuada the truth. Since, they spent as much time as they could browsing the thick volumes of Urgal Folklore that resided in Ilirea's many libraries. Beyond mentions, there was very little information about the curse, or Urgal magic at all. Everything they read were vague rumors, and was different in every volume they read. Nasuada tried to help in anyway that she could, but the duties to her nation made her too busy to do much and Murtagh and Thorn were left on their own for long periods of time. Despite their good intentions, they grew frustrated with the lack of answers, losing hope with every non-answer they read.

"The pain comes and goes," Murtagh answered the Queen distantly. "Some days are worse than others, and there is always pain when I use too much magic. Thorn's a little better at fielding it than I am. He's always been the stronger of us."

"I wish there was something I could do about it," Nasuada voiced. Murtagh stayed quiet, drinking in her appearance as she leaned over the edge of the stone balcony, gazing out at the dimly lit city beneath them. The moon was bright that night, the silvery light highlighting the softer curves of her dark cheeks and the way her lips pulled down in a troubled frown. She had let her hair down before he had dropped onto her balcony, and hadn't bothered to put it back up. The ends of her dark hair brushed along the small of her back and would occasionally pool upon the railing as she leaned forward intimacy of such an action wasn't lost on him. He turned his eyes away from the beautiful woman beside him, swallowing thickly.

A silence drew out from between them, and the Rider stared out over the city as well. He hadn't returned to the heart of the city since he returned the child to his mother, and as the days he spent in Ilirea grew longer, he knew he wouldn't manage to visit it again soon. His own duties held him back, reminding him that regardless of what intentions he had, bigger things called his attention and their reason for remaining in the Capitol city grew smaller and smaller. He knew that they would be leaving soon, but a part of him wanted to remain here. Remain close to Nasuada and put himself out to know the people that lived here now. But despite his selfish desires, the knot within his stomach told him otherwise.

"I know that look." Murtagh glanced over. Nasuada was frowning. "You're planning to leave again."

He let a sigh escape his lips and looked away from her, unable to keep her gaze. "We never intended to stay long."

"I know," Nasuada responded. "I know." Her features were sad as she stared out into the night sky. "Though, I cannot deny that a part of me hoped you would remain here for a while longer."

"It's not forever," the Rider said quietly.

A sad smile curved upon the Queen's lips. "You're right. It's not. What use is it to dwell upon the inevitable things?"

Murtagh looked over at her, realizing that her long hair had created a barrier between them. She was strong, he knew that better than most, but there were times when her strength got the better of her. He had only seen her tears a few times, and among them all, she retained herself, refusing to let her emotions rule her mind. She was stronger than him, who let his world crumble under the oppression his emotions brought him. He still remembered how hard it was to turn his back on her as he left after the battle with Galbatorix. He knew that if he saw her cry, he wouldn't have the strength to leave like he needed to.

"There are many things to be done still," she said. She tucked her hair behind her ear, dry eyes cautiously meeting his. He sighed lightly to himself. "Many duties still need my full attention. Perhaps it is best that you leave. I cannot help you much here. I'm sure you can find much beyond the borders of Ilirea." Her eyes darted away from his, avoiding his gaze.

"I would stay if I could, Nasuada," he told her.

The Queen smiled sadly. "Why would I keep you for myself when you so clearly need freedom more?" Murtagh kept silent, unsure what to say. "I could make as many aspirations as I wish, but none are solid without your consent," she continued. "You know as well as I that this Empire and this land could use the power and influence of a Rider to move forward with a sense of structure and stability. Yet, it is wrong of me to place you in this position before you are ready. You know my intentions, but this should be your decision. If you decide to help us, don't do it for me. Do it for the people. They deserve a leader willing to protect them through good times and bad."

Murtagh considered her words for a long moment, looking out at the city. From here, he could see some people walking the roadways under the candlelight, returning home for the night, bringing home their profits and goods from the day. There was no fear, and no darkness clouding over the people as they casually walked along the streets. "I think they may already have such a leader, my Queen," he said quietly.

He could tell she was considering what he said, a small knowing smile forming on her lips after a moment. "Even a Queen could use some help."

_Which is why we plan to return quickly._ Nasuada acknowledged Thorn's voice, jumping when she realized the dragon's head hovering close behind her. Thorn made a low snicker deep in his throat, obviously amused by her surprise. The red dragon had himself perched upon the ledge of the roof above her balcony, where they had landed earlier when Murtagh arrived. Usually, he waited patiently for Murtagh to finish his talk with the Queen, but it seemed he got impatient and decided to join in on the conversation in his own way. Nasuada laughed a little at her own surprise and reached out to scratch the underside of Thorn's chin affectionately. Murtagh nearly rolled his eyes at the loud rumble that came from his dragon at her touch. He ignored the smug feelings that wafted his way through their link.

"I suppose you're leaving earlier than I expected," the Queen commented, noticing Murtagh's pack and Zar' roc strapped to Thorn's saddle. The dragon peeped an eye open, recognizing the slight sadness that permeated her voice. "I hope you both find what you are looking for," she continued. "I shall pray for your swift return." Murtagh and Thorn met gazes.

"Come with us," the Rider said softly. She reacted to his voice, barely turning her head his way.

"You know I cannot, Murtagh," she said. "Our people need their leader."

"Then just come with us tonight," Murtagh insisted. "Fly with us." Nasuada finally met his gaze, her brown eyes sparkling with dreams and desires she never let herself consider during the times where people could see them.

"I…" she hesitated, glancing nervously at the castle. Indecision battled with her impulse to say yes, freezing her in place uncertainly. The Rider took a few steps towards her, extending his hand when she hesitated. She looked at his hand, then back up at his eyes. Thorn sighed impatiently, blowing warm air into Nasuada's face.

_What is there to consider? The air is perfect for flying tonight and my wings itch to feel the wind beneath them! _He nudged Nasuada impatiently with his nose, pushing her towards Murtagh. The Rider reacted almost belatedly when the woman stumbled in surprise, falling against his chest with a thump. She laughed in response, and he suppressed the flush crawling up his neck, placing his hands on her shoulders tentatively.

_Grab my horns, I am finished waiting for you to wrestle with your feelings! _The dragon huffed angrily.

_Tactless, Thorn,_ Murtagh scolded him, worried Nasuada was offended. She smiled.

"I apologize for keeping you from your flight," she said. "And I would hate to be the reason to keep you longer, so lets not waste time!"

_Excellent! Grab her and my horns, brother, I am anxious to get into the air!_ Murtagh glared at Thorn for the dragon's severe lack of discretion in his restlessness, murmuring a quiet apology to Nasuada as he tightly wrapped an arm around her waist.

"I suggest you hold on, just in case," he told her. "I promise not to drop you." She nodded, a light blush coloring her dark cheeks as she gently locked her arms around his neck. He could feel her breath against his neck, sending unintentional shivers to race up his spine. He clenched his teeth together, ignoring the sensation as Thorn brought his head over to them. The Rider naturally lifted his free arm to the dragon's closest horn and locked his grip on it as if they had done a similar routine many times before. Murtagh tightened his grip on Nasuada nervously before the dragon carefully lifted his head to easily move them to the saddle upon his back. The Queen didn't react with much surprise beyond a small tightening of her hands on the back of his tunic.

Once on Thorn's back, Murtagh released the horn, dropping easily into the familiar saddle before helping Nasuada sit in front of him. He took the time to strap her legs securely to the saddle as a precaution, noting the indecent way the position hiked her skirts up. He tried not to stare at the exposed skin of her thigh, quickly realizing that he was more aware of her state of dress than she was. The young Queen had a look of awe upon her features as she viewed Thorn from the position of a Rider, gripping the neck spike in front of her as consolation that she wouldn't fall. Thorn took a look at them from around his shoulder to check their progress.

"Now," Murtagh said, swallowing thickly, sitting up straight. "Riding a dragon is not like riding a horse. You have to feel the way that he moves and react accordingly. If he banks to the right, you want to lean with him and vice versa. Understand?" Nasuada nodded, but the Rider could tell she wasn't listening very closely. "It's all technical stuff, and since I'm behind you, you don't need to worry about it. What you _should_ pay attention to is how you hold. Even though you're tied in to the saddle, you should still grip with your legs just in case the straps don't do their job. Always keep a firm grip on the spike in front of you when he turns and when he's descending. Otherwise, you should be good. Understand?"

_Even if she does not, she will figure it out soon enough_, Thorn commented, shifting his weight to prepare to launch into the air. Nasuada's delighted smile twitched a bit and she scrambled to find a firmer grip as the dragon moved beneath them. Murtagh could feel her begin to shake a bit in anticipation and nerves.

"Don't worry," he said quietly to her, slipping his arms around her waist. "I'll be right behind you the whole time." _Take it easy, Thorn._ He felt the dragon's consent to his request as he leaned forward over the roof, crouching low, preparing to jump off. His wings shifted open a bit with a rustle, preparing to open. Nasuada swallowed nervously, but gave him a quick excited smile.

"I trust you, Murtagh," she told him. The Rider let his eyebrows raise a bit at her comment before Thorn let himself drop off the roof. The familiar sensation of falling lifted his stomach as they fell, causing Nasuada to gasp in surprise. He tightened his grip on her, hopefully providing reassurance. With a loud snap, Thorn's huge red wings spread to their full size, guiding them upward with powerful strokes of the strong muscles in his shoulders. When he reached the altitude he wanted, the dragon coasted out, flying with the wind. Gently leaning to the right, he turned them back to circle around the now tiny city of Ilirea.

"Look," he said into Nasuada's ear. The Queen turned her head to see what he pointed at, gasping at the sight. In the moonlight, he could see the wonder and excitement in her brown eyes, and the overjoyed smile that graced her lips. Despite the awe-inspiring scene around them, he couldn't take his eyes off her. The reactions that crossed her face were more beautiful to him than any scenery the world could offer. Her eyes met his enthusiastically, his heart fluttering uncomfortably in his chest.

"This is…!" Nasuada let out a peal of honest laughter. "This is absolutely incredible!" she shouted. "Is this what you always see? How incredible! How absolutely incredible!" Her excitement made Murtagh's chest feel warm, and he could feel Thorn's pleasure at her reaction to their flight. The dragon didn't hold his joy in though, letting out a loud exuberant roar to match her laugh. The Rider smiled widely at both their reactions, feeling unusually happy. There were few times in his life that he could claim that he truly felt happy, and this was one of those moments. Flying through the clear night sky with the brother of his soul and the woman he loved… He paused in his thought process, wondering when his affections had turned into love for her.

_A long time ago, __bróðir__, _Thorn told him quietly. _You have always loved her._

The Rider pondered that information, watching Nasuada as she observed the sky above them and the distant ground below them. She lifted her hand in the air, trying to touch the cloud that passed by them, the moonlight giving a glow to her skin, accenting her long dark hair as it blew leisurely behind her. He felt the warmth of her body against his chest and beneath the hands he had on her stomach. She was so… _alive._

_About time you realized it,_ Thorn chuckled through their link. _I have never seen somebody more thick headed than you._

_No thanks to you,_ Murtagh commented back.

_I love her too,_ the dragon continued, ignoring his Rider's comment. _She has your best intentions in mind, and she is good to you. Which is a good thing. I would not share you with any one other than her. _

Murtagh smiled. _I feel the same way, brother._ Thorn hummed lightly in response, gently turning his trajectory away from the capitol city. As they flew, Nasuada started to relax, enjoying the sensation of being in the air, watching the ground from so far up. She observed the scenery go by in content silence, leaning timidly back into Murtagh's chest. The Rider kept his arms locked rigidly around her middle, back straight as a board as she gently let her head rest back against his collar bone. The three of them flew in silence for a long while, enjoying the chance to be away from the world for a while.

"Where will you go?" she eventually asked him. He sighed into her dark hair, knowing that moments like this were the shortest in life.

"East, I think," he responded quietly. "I am uncertain if it is the best idea, but I want to consult with Eragon for a while."

"He will be happy to see you," she told him. Murtagh shifted uncomfortably, uncertain. "The few times we have spoken since he left for the Eastern Mountain Range, he has mentioned his worry for you. I'm sure he will accept your visit gratefully."

"That is all I can hope for," the Rider said solemnly.

_Eragon means well,_ Thorn added. _But I understand your worry. _

"I know he does," Murtagh responded. "But we have bigger things to worry over than how he'll receive us." Nasuada didn't respond, looking out at the night sky for a while. Murtagh took a look at her face, noticing her downcast expression. "What bothers you?" he asked.

She smiled briefly, sitting forward to put some space between them. "I realize it's foolish to dwell on events that shall come to be, but…" She glanced over her shoulder at him, her eyes shining brightly in the moonlight. "Will you be gone for long?" Murtagh let the shock show on his face at her tearful question, his heart stopping in his chest for a moment. She turned away, hiding her face by facing away from him.

"Forgive me," she said quietly. "I do not wish to burden you with my selfish requests… but its been five years since the day you left, and I've tried so hard to think of anything but the day you would return. I always knew that you would. I always knew. But, on the days I was least busy, I couldn't help but wonder when you would." Murtagh was silent, his heart pounding loudly in his head. "I know I ask much of you," she continued. "But I will never ask for your freedom."

The Rider bit his lip, trying to contain himself. How easy was it for her to affect him so greatly! He tightened his grip around her stomach, embracing her tightly against him. She reacted in surprise, but didn't try to push away. Murtagh pressed his forehead to her shoulder, just holding her. She sniffled, silent tears dripping down her cheeks.

"Come with me," Murtagh murmured into her shoulder.

"You know I cannot," she whispered, wiping her face. "But I wish that I could. More than anything in the world."

He squeezed his eyes closed, holding her tightly in silence. Nasuada let a few more tears quietly fall from her eyes. Thorn's wings beat through the air, the only sound between the three of them. What started out happy, ended with a such a sad note, but Murtagh should have expected that. Happiness was so hard to come by for him.

_Take us back, Thorn. It's time to leave._

The dragon didn't respond, but his wings tipped back in the direction of the capitol city.

Their return trip wasn't nearly was exciting as their initial one was, but by the time the city was back within their sights, the wind had dried their wet cheeks. Both riders on the dragon held themselves with broader shoulders, steeling themselves back into the strong people they were known to be. It was a parting, but it wasn't farewell. As the dragon silently swooped over the buildings, aiming to land amid the castle again, Murtagh allowed himself to embrace Nasuada one last time. Thorn made a careful landing on the stone roof of the castle, being sure not to jostle his riders. As soon as they were securely landed, Thorn's wings tucked away against his body, Murtagh reluctantly released the woman sitting before him.

He made quick work of releasing the Queen from the saddle, and before he knew it, he was releasing Thorn's horn, both of them standing in the same positions that they were before they flew off on a dragon for the night. Nasuada avoided his gaze, tucking a lock of her hair behind her ear self-consciously.

"I suppose I should wish you well on your travels," she said politely. Murtagh sighed.

"I will miss you," he admitted quietly.

"And I will miss you just as much," the Queen responded. Their eyes met. "Then… this is farewell?"

Murtagh searched her eyes for a long moment before reaching a hand up to touch her cheek. She leaned into his caress, closing her eyes when his fingers found their way into her unbound hair.

"Never farewell, only a good-bye for now," he murmured softly. "May the sun and the stars shine brightly upon you, and the winds guide you through dark times." He lightly pressed his lips upon her forehead. "I will think of you everyday, Nasuada. Pömnuria hjarta er medh ono."

The words hung heavy in the air as Murtagh stepped away from the Queen, his hands gently pulling away from her. He let Thorn lift him back up to the saddle, this time for a long time. He was buckling his legs in the saddle straps when he saw Nasuada's face again, leaning over the side of the balcony to see him.

"The Urgal games are a fortnight away. In Gil'ead. As a Rider, I expect you to come," she shouted to him. "Promise me you'll come, Murtagh."

Murtagh thought on the idea a while, feeling Thorn's approval and eagerness towards it. "You have my word, your majesty," he responded. She smiled widely at his response, making his lips quirk up a bit. "Lets go, Thorn." The dragon said his own good-bye to the Queen before launching himself off the castle in a much faster way than he did earlier that night. Murtagh watched over his shoulder as the city slowly disappeared in the distance behind them.

_Are you okay with leaving her?_ Thorn asked.

"Everything's fine," the Rider responded, feeling more encouraged than he had in days. "We have a purpose now."


	10. Chapter 10

_Pömnuria Hjarta er medh Ono_

**A/N:** Thank you all so much for the support! I hope you'll continue to support this story as it moves forward. As we finally reach double-digit chapters, we're entering a tad more dangerous areas where I enter well-liked characters, hoping that by any means, I can do their characters justice. Forgive me if any characters sound weird at first, it takes me a little while for their voice to settle within my head to where I can write them for anything. Suggestions are always welcome to those who want to give them! Also, if you guys haven't realized it by now, this story is mainly about the relationships between all of the characters rather than the adventure, but don't be discouraged! I promise some action in future chapters to come.

Much thanks to Suma Susaki for helping me write this chapter. I thought Eragon would be the most trouble to write. Turns out, Saphira was. : / Either way, I worry about their personalities, and if Suma doesn't convince me not to constantly change what they say, this chapter wouldn't be done, for sure.

And one last announcement: **saphira and shruikan **put this story up on the TvTropes website for _Inheritance Cycle_ fanfiction recommendations! Thank you SO much for the support!

**Disclaimer:** Why am I still writing these? Because in all reality, Thorn has become my favorite character of all time. I just wish he spoke more in _Inheritance_. I've always loved him, and now he's the most solid and defined character out of all that I've written so far. I wish he was mine. So badly! But alas, he is not. Copyright, CP.

**Edit 11/3:** Due to the incredible intelligence of my audience (and repeated mentions of this) I went ahead and fixed some minor grammatical errors at the end of this chapter that got MORE than enough mention. Thanks for that!

ENJOY!

. . . . . . . . . . . .

The days passed quickly for the Rider and his dragon. They easily fell back into the routine they had developed for long-distance traveling, taking brief breaks at the fall of night and the rise of morning. They flew above the clouds, just out of the eyesight of those on the land below them, eating away the leagues as the days passed. By the end of the third day, Murtagh started to notice the forests of Du Weldenvarden give way to a string of mountains he did not recognize. They weren't as tall as the Beor, but they were taller than the Spine, the tips of the peaks covered with white snow. Green trees dotted the sides of the mountains, deep ravines cutting through the land between the peaks, crystalline water distantly flowing between them.

_I know Nasuada said that Eragon had taken the eggs to the Eastern Mountain Range, but this place looks like it could stretch on forever,_ Murtagh commented to Thorn. _How will we find him?_

_I am sure that Eragon made it so that If we really wanted to find them, we could. _Thorn took a deep breath. _I can smell something different about this air. It is faint, but if we follow it, we might find what we search for._

_You smell something?_ Murtagh chuckled. _I didn't know you were part dog._

_Rude. _Thorn huffed. _Smell may not be a dragon's strongest attribute, but comparing me to a dog? Insulting._

_You know I didn't mean that,_ Murtagh responded, grinning. _You really think dogs are inferior?_

_All they do is yap incessantly,_ Thorn said haughtily. _What purpose do they serve beyond chasing sheep and begging for food? Useless. They are not even big enough for a snack._

_Of course you would say that._ Murtagh shook his head in amusement. _Where do you think they'll be?_

_Probably up in the mountains,_ Thorn responded. _The ground is not safe for hatchlings. You can help me look for their lair, even if your eyesight is not as excellent as mine._

_Rude._ Murtagh smiled, taking a better look at the mountain peaks that passed below them. The deeper they flew into unknown territory, the more anxious he was becoming. He had loved what they experienced and found on their earlier travels, and despite having spent over a week within the walls of Ilirea, he had missed the boundless feeling of just flying wherever they wanted to go. They had a destination this time around, but that didn't take away from the feeling of exploring the unknown. In the distance, he could see a mountain that towered over it's surrounding brothers, nearly reaching the height of a Beor mountain. Seeing no better direction to turn towards, they flew towards the tall mountain.

As they grew closer, Thorn started to comment about the odd rock formation that protruded from the mountainside. They dropped their altitude, weaving their way through the peaks rather than flying above them, searching for hints regarding Eragon's location. Soon, they were merely a few peaks away from the giant mountain, it's sheer size almost daunting in a way. From this vantage point, Murtagh started to realize something quite different about the mountain.

_It's here,_ he told Thorn. _We found it!_

The rock formations that protruded out of the mountainside, were more than just rocks. Executed by what looked to be careful magic usage, tall spires erected themselves from the mountain itself, reaching for the sky. Thorn pulled his wings in a curve, following the turn of the giant mountain. The stone architecture was literally built out of the mountain, following the turn of the mountain as well. As they flew, the architecture eventually gave way to a bigger feat of construction: a huge castle built into the mountain itself.

Murtagh could feel Thorn's surprise mirror his own. _You have got to be- _

A sharp roar, higher pitched than any Thorn would bellow, cut through the air, startling the red Rider and his dragon. They both reacted in surprise as a shimmering blue form turned from the other side of the mountain, flying towards them. Thorn jolted in the air, letting out an excited roar in response. The red dragon dipped downwards, flying towards Saphira as she grew closer to them. The dragons circled each other in a dragonesque greeting, Murtagh spying Eragon perched upon Saphira's back. Even with the distance between them, he could tell his brother was smiling. Eragon made a few gestures to land before he and Saphira broke from the circle, Thorn following in suit.

They coasted towards the castle, landing in the large, grassy opening that stretched out before the stronghold, trotting with the momentum of their landing. Eragon leaped off of Saphira's back lithely while Murtagh spent a longer amount of time unbuckling the straps of his saddle, and stretching his legs trying to return the feeling in his toes before sliding off of Thorn's back. The blue dragon Rider trotted over to the two of them, Saphira following closely behind him. Murtagh couldn't help but feel a curl of anxiety in his stomach as his brother approached. He wasn't sure how to react or even what to say. They had parted on decent terms, but who was to say it would stay that way?

"I have to say," Eragon said with a grin, stopping before the red Rider. "When I woke up this morning, I was not planning to have visitors."

"I should have told you we were coming," Murtagh responded stiffly. "It was sort of a last minute decision."

"Whatever it was, I'm glad you came!" Eragon laughed. He held his hand out in a companionable greeting. "It's truly good to see you again, Murtagh."

Murtagh took his hand, letting a small smile form on his lips. "You as well, Eragon."

"I am curious, though," the blue Rider admitted, releasing his brother's hand as Saphira and Thorn greeted each other just as casually. "How did you know we were out here?"

"I didn't really," Murtagh responded. "Nasuada told me about it."

"Nasuada," Eragon repeated in a knowing voice, giving a meaningful look towards Saphira. Murtagh raised an eyebrow in confusion, noting Thorn's low chuckle as the dragon laid down for a rest.

_What's so funny?_ the Rider asked. Thorn ignored him.

"How is she, anyway?" Eragon asked, shifting the topic a bit.

"Busy," Murtagh responded. "I hadn't realized that she had assumed the crown since I left, but she's really made a difference for the Empire. Things are starting to look… better."

Eragon was smiling. "She really is an incredible woman."

Murtagh let his mind wander a bit, thinking about the way Nasuada had smiled and laughed on their flight. "Yeah…"

_Sorry to interrupt, _Thorn cut in. _But I wanted to know, did you build this place, Eragon-Murtagh's-Brother?_

Eragon looked surprised. "Of course," he responded. "But, not by myself. I had a lot of help."

"The Eldunari?" Murtagh guessed.

"That's part of it." Eragon cast a look up at Saphira. She huffed lightly, seemingly embarrassed. "The architecture is one thing, but the heart of this place is truly Saphira's handiwork."

"Truly?" Murtagh asked, looking up at the blue dragon.

_I would never raise the hatchlings in a place that was unsatisfactory,_ she said to him. Her voice was softer and more motherly than Thorn's was.

"Hatchlings," Murtagh repeated in awe, looking back at Eragon. "You have hatchlings?"

The blue Rider's grin grew wide. "Five since we arrived here. Seems as though the wild ones were just waiting for an environment suitable for them to hatch. Saphira's been a wonderful surrogate mother for them. Our youngest dragon hatched just last month." He touched the blue dragon's chin lovingly, Saphira humming lightly in appreciation to the compliment.

Murtagh smiled, looking up at Thorn in a moment of unabashed happiness. Through their link, he could feel Thorn's excitement and pride for his race, an undeniable joy sprinkling through his thoughts.

_Could we see them?_ the dragon asked timidly. Murtagh looked to see his brother's response.

"How could I possibly deny that request from another dragon?" Eragon asked sympathetically. "Regardless, you both must be tired. We'll let you have a moment to regain your strength before you see the hatchlings. Trust me when I say you're going to need it. They're quite a handful."

Murtagh laughed a bit at that thought. "I'm sure they are. Thank you, Eragon."

"You're welcome to stay anywhere that you like. We have plenty of rooms," Eragon continued. He rubbed the back of his neck, looking a little embarrassed. "I may have gone a little overboard during the building process."

Murtagh took the moment to truly observe the place from up close. The whole place seemed to be connected to the mountain itself as if Eragon had merely called the stone to grow itself out of the mountain. The walls were high, but every spire and long wall had several huge windows big enough for a full size dragon to easily fly in and out of. Eragon had obviously listened to Saphira when he built the place; the ceilings were high and the entranceways large. Murtagh could tell that the borders outlining the every opening was decorated with depictions of dragons and riders. Some still remained un-carved, indicating that Eragon was still in the process of adding in his personal tastes.

"It really is a place unlike any other," the red Rider commented.

"I tried to make it so," Eragon responded. "But I must admit, the idea wasn't mine. Blödhgarm suggested the idea to make it part of the mountain itself. The place reminds me of **Ellesméra** in a way. Maybe that's what he was going for." He seemed to think for a moment, looking at his creation. "We were hoping to have the Order of the Riders moved out here. It's a safe place, I made sure of that, and there's a lot of untouched land and wildlife out here. It's peaceful. And, if Alagaësia ever needs us, we're not so far away that we couldn't reach the Empire in time."

Murtagh contemplated the idea, noting Thorn's interest. "What would you call it?" he wondered aloud.

_Skulblaka Nidum,_ Saphira answered firmly.

"Dragon's nest," the red Rider translated quietly. Thorn hummed lightly at the sound of it.

Eragon chuckled. "Saphira's been quite adamant lately about which name she prefers. I wanted something more… intimidating, but she threatened to leave me behind on our flights if I didn't take her suggestion."

_Simple but appropriate. I think it fits,_ Thorn commented.

Saphira puffed her chest out a bit in pride. _See, I told you so._

"Okay, okay, I'll concede." Eragon rolled his eyes. "But honestly. Let's stop standing around in the courtyard and go inside. There is much I wish to show you, and we have to get started sometime."

The two Riders continued to speak as they entered the mountain's castle, keeping up what Murtagh considered to be awkward, lighthearted conversation. He couldn't help but feel tense walking beside his brother. For so long he had struggled with the dark voice that whispered in the back of his head, encouraging him to kill Eragon on sight, that he could hardly look him in the eye. Thorn remained close to his rider, providing support through soft, understanding touches of his mind. Murtagh kept a hand on Thorn's scaly hide, finding rationale and comfort from being in close contact with his dragon.

Despite his uneasy atmosphere, Murtagh couldn't help but feel a sense of awe for the building they entered. The interior was just as stunning as the exterior with a spacious layout, the many floors all interconnected and easily reached from nearly anywhere they stood. The castle was deceiving, stretching deeply into the core of the mountain itself, making the whole place seem even bigger on the inside. Eragon explained that he wanted the place to be large enough to accommodate dragons in flight, allowing the whole structure to be a home for both Riders and their dragons. As they walked deeper into the castle, he mentioned that the true nest where they raised the hatchlings and protected the eggs was within the deepest part of the mountain, the heart of the Skulblaka Nidum itself.

"You can have whichever room you like," Eragon said, gesturing up at the long hallways stretching away from them. "I'll have some of the elves start a meal for you." He glanced over at Murtagh for a moment before clearing his throat. "If you don't mind, I'm going to leave you for now. Saphira and I have some things to attend to for a while."

"Go ahead," Murtagh responded, trying to hide the relief he felt at his brother's words.

"Good," Eragon said, moving to board Saphira's back. "We should be back before dinner. I'll let you know when we return, that way we can meet up before I show you the hatchlings."

Murtagh met Eragon's eyes, feeling humbled by the consideration. "…Thank you."

Eragon smiled knowingly. "Of course." He waved briefly before Saphira launched herself into the air, soaring gracefully towards the entrance. Murtagh watched them go for a long moment before Thorn's nose bumped him in the side lightly.

_He knows how you feel,_ the dragon told his Rider. _He is quite perceptive. _

"What does that mean?" Murtagh asked suspiciously, recognizing his dragon's thoughtful tone of voice.

_That means he recognizes the obvious faster than you. _Thorn stuck out his tongue tauntingly. Murtagh raised his eyebrows at the dragon's obvious snub before glaring at him.

"Do not start this game, Thorn," he threatened.

_Or what?_ the dragon sneered.

"Or I will tell everybody your secret," Murtagh announced. "If Eragon's so perceptive, he must know your secret by now."

Thorn lifted his head in confusion. _What secret?_

"And you make fun of me for being dense!" Murtagh laughed. "You have feelings for Saphira."

The dragon scoffed indignantly, turning his head away. _I do not._

"Do not deny it Thorn," the Rider teased. "I always knew you had a thing for older women."

The red dragon gave his Rider a flat stare. _You are an idiot. _

Murtagh frowned at the dragon's response before sighing. "Fine. You win. I'm getting too tired to argue with you like this."

_You just cannot admit that you lost,_ Thorn commented, lowering himself so that Murtagh could reach the saddle on his back. The Rider ignored the remark, pulling himself up onto Thorn's back. The dragon chuckled lightly before launching himself in the air, gliding down one of the halls. They eventually picked a room on the second floor, big enough for both a dragon and a Rider. The room was mainly a large hay-filled area with a water trough on one side. Above the miniature dragon keep, a set of stairs along the wall led to a lofted area for the Rider with a bed, a wardrobe and a basin and a mirror made out of polished metal.

_This is comfortable,_ Thorn mentioned, settling himself down upon the hay covered surface. Murtagh climbed the stairs, eyeing the gradually more comfortable-looking bed with weary eyes.

"He has really thought of everything," he commented before allowing himself to fall upon the bed, his eyes unable to stay open for much longer.

. . . . . . . . . . . . .

He knew he was dreaming. He could practically hear the sound of her voice, the sweet tone of her laugh. He could see her smile, her long dark hair, her sparkling eyes. He could feel her hands on his skin, her breath upon his face, her soft lips upon his. His fingers touched her skin and weaved through her hair. He drank her in, pulling her closer-

_Murtagh! Get up!_

The Rider jolted, his eyes popping open. He looked around the room in confusion, his mind slowly reminding him of where he was. Sitting up, he groaned to himself, rubbing his head. Thorn's eyes peeked over the edge of the loft.

_Did I interrupt anything?_

"Shut up, Thorn," he growled, swinging his legs over the edge of the bed. The dragon lowered his head, to give him some space. Murtagh sighed, leaning his head between his knees. It had only been a couple days, but the image of Nasuada had been haunting his thoughts and weaving through his dreams. The past couple days had been significantly worse than the past five years. He could remember a time when thinking about her didn't come with such an ache of longing. Rubbing his head, Murtagh forced himself to stand up, walking over to see Thorn. The dragon peered up at him from below.

"What's wrong?" he asked the dragon.

_Oh, nothing,_ Thorn responded. _Just that Eragon's back and says that he wants to meet us out in the courtyard._

"Huh. Why didn't he contact me?" the Rider wondered aloud.

_Well, you _were_ sleeping,_ Thorn reminded him. Murtagh blushed, realizing it was true before turning to find his boots. He dressed quickly, bounding down the stairs to mount Thorn, both of them flying swiftly and smoothly out the door and down the corridor.

"Did you sleep at all?" Murtagh asked his dragon. Thorn shrugged a bit through their link.

_Night time is for sleeping. I merely rested while you slept._

Thorn's response worried him a bit, but he tried not to let it show. They continued their short flight out of the castle, and out into the open mountain air. As they flew into the light, Thorn nearly stumbled out of the air in surprise. He coasted down to the ground, trotting closer to where Saphira and Eragon stood instead of flying, his eyes locked on the glimmering white dragon perched beside them.

The dragon had a wary, creme colored eye upon the red Dragon as he grew closer, backing away slightly when Thorn grew too close. The white dragon let out a low hiss, spreading its wings in defense. Thorn realized he was scaring the new dragon and lowered himself closer to the ground, showing that he didn't mean any harm. As Murtagh slid off of Thorn's back, the white dragon stopped hissing, showing signs of a wary curiosity. Murtagh took a few steps closer to Eragon, his eyes trained on the wild dragon. It was an exotic breed with several spikes lining the line of its body from its snout to the tip of its tail. Its hide was as white as the snow that tipped the mountains around them, its eyes more off-white than the rest of its scales. In size, it was much smaller than either Saphira or Thorn, but had a leaner, lither body type.

"Nothing to worry about," Eragon was saying. "She's just a little skittish."

"She?" Murtagh responded in surprise.

"She," Eragon repeated, grinning. "This is Aranthi. She's about two years old, and was our second dragon to hatch. Don't be intimidated by her. She's a sweet girl." He walked over to the white dragon, gently reaching up to touch her maw. The dragon didn't react to Eragon, ignoring him while she stared down Thorn. Saphira let out a low warning tone, shocking the younger dragon. She broke eye contact with Thorn, gently pushing her spiked nose up against Eragon's chest in greeting. Eragon chuckled, rubbing the underside of her chin.

"See? She's a good girl," he said. Aranthi hummed lightly, her eye darting back to Thorn warily. Eragon turned towards his brother, a smile on his face. "Come! She won't hurt you."

"I'm less worried about that," Murtagh responded, glancing back at Thorn. _What are you thinking?_

Thorn tried to ignore him, laying his head down on the ground non-aggressively to help calm the younger dragon. His eyes stayed watching her though, taking her in. Murtagh recognized Thorn's feelings of awe and intimidation, along with a touch of attraction. The Rider smiled to himself, feeling happy for his dragon.

Turning back towards his brother, Murtagh stumbled back a bit in shock, realizing the white dragon's maw was merely inches from his face. Her curiosity seemingly overcame her caution as she took a few sniffs of Murtagh's hair. Lowering her head a bit, she sniffed the hand that held the Gedwëy Ignasia, recognizing the scent of a dragon Rider. He carefully lifted his hand towards her, hoping she wouldn't just decide to snap off his hand. Gently sniffing his palm again, she bumped her nose underneath his outstretched hand. Murtagh let a smile crawl across his face.

"Does she speak?" he asked Eragon in curiosity.

"Somewhat," the other Rider responded. "She can speak, but she chooses not to most of the time. She has a really soft voice that she considers to be un-intimidating. Saphira thinks she's self-conscious of it."

"So, you're a quiet one," Murtagh said quietly to the white dragon. Aranthi met his gaze, holding it for a long time. "You don't have to be afraid." Murtagh gestured for Thorn to come closer, keeping the white dragon's eyes. He noticed when she would look away, warily looking at Thorn as he came closer. "He's not scary," Murtagh said, catching her attention again. "You do not have to trust me if you don't want to, but figure it out for yourself if he's truly frightening."

He was gentle as he pushed her nose away from him and towards Thorn, who had come up behind him. He gently released the dragon's snout, watching their interactions warily. Aranthi looked a little nervous, but held her ground while Thorn was being more shy and reserved than what Murtagh considered to be usual.

_This is your chance, brother,_ Murtagh encouraged tenderly. Thorn met his Rider's gaze for a short moment before gently touching his nose to the white dragon's. She snorted in surprise, flinching back a bit at first, but returned the gesture with a spark of bravery after a short moment. Murtagh smiled openly as he felt Thorn's happiness through their link. There were few things that made him happier than knowing his dragon was happy. And he couldn't help but want the best for his brother of soul.

_We are similar in that way,_ Thorn said to him lightly, making him smile.

_I suppose so_


	11. Chapter 11

_Pömnuria Hjarta er medh Ono_

**A/N:** Thank you all for the support, once again! Sorry for not updating sooner. Real life decided to get in the way for a while. I do have to thank you guys for also giving out constructive criticism. Despite my love for writing, even I have word choice issues, and quite plainly, failures in mental capacities. So, for the "wary" and "weary" problem, I'm sorry! I take what you guys say into mind and I plan to go back and edit some problem areas through out the story, but probably not until its finished. Until then, take what I write with a grain of salt, and enjoy it as much as you can! Also, when writing the first half of this chapter, I accidentally made Murtagh and Eragon flirt hardcore. My co-writer just laughed at me. Luckily, I changed it for the final draft. XD

Anyway, this chapter is extremely plot-heavy, so be looking for things that may interest you in the future, because we're making headway to the main conflict! (yay!)

**Disclaimer: **Yeah... I'm having a bit too much fun playing around with these characters. ;) Not mine.

ENJOY!

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"The world is so much bigger than we grew up to know," Eragon was saying over dinner, gesturing out beyond where they sat. The dining room Eragon had built was a spacious place with seating around a large fire pit, the illumination of the flame lighting up the darker corners of the grand room. From across the fire, the elven spellcasters spoke quietly to themselves, indulging upon assorted fruits and vegetables placed in large bowls around the base of the flame. Suspended over the flame itself was a steaming pot of vegetable soup that Eragon had requested, a smaller bowl of the hearty liquid held in Murtagh's hands as his brother held open a map before them. He recognized part of it as what he knew of Alagaësia with a wider expanse of uncharted land sketched out by hand on the eastern side of the map. He recognized Eragon's handwriting naming the unfamiliar rivers and lakes charted in the area.

"Out here there's so much unused land and hardly any villages whatsoever. I have only seen traveling bands of people when Saphira and I did a fly over to chart the land. It's incredible. I had no idea that there was still so much still unseen in our world."

Murtagh observed the map for himself. He took in the unfinished area above Alagaësia. "You haven't been North?"

"Most of the time Saphira and I stay around the mountains. Since the eggs started hatching, we have not been very far away. What you see here is what we managed to draw out a couple years ago," Eragon admitted. "Didn't you say you were flying North when you left?"

Murtagh nodded. "The Great Sea was much closer than we imagined. We spent a lot of time flying between the different islands along the Northern coastline, but we did not go much farther than that." He eyed the area above Alagaësia warily, remembering their trip across the sea itself. "For the most part."

"Hmm. You must have spent a lot of time in a concentrated area." Eragon rubbed his chin before searching the stack of half-finished, detailed maps beside him, pulling out a blank sheet of parchment and a writing stick tipped with charcoal. "Would it be too much to ask you to sketch it?"

He eyed the parchment Eragon held out to him with a hint of reluctance. He didn't spend a whole lot of time drawing in his life, he much preferred the benefits of writing, and his brother's natural talent at sketching the land that he saw actually intimidated him a bit. Taking the offered utensils, Murtagh sighed. "I cannot promise accuracy by any means," he told him.

Eragon merely laughed. "The elves criticized my first map. They said it looked too much like a fish. I did not think so, but they are naturally the better artists. Personally, I think it looks more like a dragon." Murtagh drew the basic shape of the ground that he knew, explaining the lay of the land and what villages he saw along the way. Eragon watched diligently, taking in what Murtagh was drawing.

"I did not realize there was another island so close to Vroengard," Eragon commented as his brother drew a large island just a few leagues above where the ruins of the Riders laid.

"It is a sinister place," Murtagh told him. "The air seemed heavier around the island itself, and we did not even attempt to land." Eragon contemplated his words, his mind reeling. His natural curiosity was nearly as strong as Murtagh and Thorn's were, but he knew Eragon would not venture to a place that Murtagh would not. Despite being at odds with most of their beliefs and choices, that much Murtagh was grateful Eragon heeded to. When inquiring about the island in nearby settlements, Murtagh had come to learn the name El-Harim. From the many stories he had heard as a child and the ominous saying that he remembered Nasuada whispering about it during her time captured by Galbatorix, he knew the ominous feeling surrounding the island to be more than just a feeling. He knew they made the right decision to fly away from the cursed land. Turning his eyes back towards the map that Eragon had sketched out, he noticed tall mountains, larger than the Beor on Eragon's scale, pushing out of the Great Sea in lonesome peaks. "What are these?" he inquired.

Eragon followed his point before grinning. "Something that you absolutely _must_ see."

Murtagh felt his lips twitch up a bit at the other Rider's excitement. "I suppose that means we are going to go see it."

"In good time," Eragon responded. "That trip can wait a couple days. I am sure you and Thorn are anxious to see the nest."

Murtagh looked over to where Thorn and Saphira were partaking in their own meal of venison that the blue dragon had brought up from her hunt earlier that day. Saphira contentedly munched on a stretch of thigh meat, keeping a glittering sapphire eye on he and Eragon as they spoke. Thorn, on the other hand, hardly even touched his meal aside from a few bites. His large red head was rested on the ground beside the meat, his eyes closed. Through their link, Murtagh could feel a few distant pulses of pain, which the dragon valiantly tried to shield away from him.

"There is no rush," the red Rider responded softly, feeling less than inclined to force Thorn beyond what he could handle at the moment. He would refuse to see the nest without his dragon anyway, it was not right of him to partake in such a glorious sight without him. His hands gripped the edge of the bowl as the familiar feeling of uselessness started to burn in his lower stomach. The soup in his bowl was starting to look rather unappetizing to him, and he lowered the still half-full bowl to the ground, finished with it. Eragon frowned, noting his brother's distinct change in demeanor.

"Hey," he said quietly. "Is everything okay?"

"I think we might need more rest," Murtagh responded, not entirely lying. Eragon cast a glance over to where Thorn had his head down on the ground, nodding in understanding.

"I would not want to keep you awake if you wish to rest," he said, placing his own bowl down. "I still have a few things I need to get done before the end of the night. If you wish, you can find me tomorrow and I will show you and Thorn the nest. Slytha mor'ranr, iet, vinr."

Murtagh repeated the blessing for good sleep with a touch of awkward shyness before standing up to approach his dragon. Thorn forced an eye open as he grew closer, sighing a bit of dark smoke out of his nostrils. Saphira followed their movements with a casual curiosity, a spark of knowing deep within her blue eyes. The look unnerved Murtagh a bit as he touched his dragon's resting head.

_She already knows,_ Thorn told him. The Rider schooled his face from showing the surprise and twinge of fear that blasted through his chest at his dragon's words. _I did not tell her, but she is aware. You will have to tell him soon, __bróðir__. Secrets keep only for as long as they are unknown. _

Murtagh sighed softly, knowing Thorn's words to be true. _Tomorrow,_ he promised. The dragon agreed before rising to head back to their room. They flew quickly and gracefully back to where they rested earlier that day, Thorn settling down on the bed of hay laid upon the floor. Instead of heading unto where his bed was, Murtagh propped himself comfortably against the dragon's side. Curling his neck around, Thorn sighed lightly in contentment, his scaly nose pressed against his Rider's side. Murtagh put his hand down atop the dragon's nose, feeling the familiar low burning in the pit of his stomach start to spike.

"It will be over soon," he said quietly, closing his eyes to the pain. _I hope._

_. . . . . . . . . . . . ._

Nasuada sighed to herself as she walked the halls of the castle, her guards silently trailing behind her. A week had passed already, and while she couldn't deny that she missed him, she had been unbelievably busy. Preparations for the Urgal Games were nearly out the roof with things that still needed to be done, and beyond all the necessary duties that she had to attend to, she was planning on leaving for Gil'ead not two nights from then. In her remaining time, she had to prep the council to take over the capitol in her absence, make an announcement to the people of Ilirea to promote the Games themselves and meet up with select dignitaries, including Nar Garzhvog, before the official start of the Games. Her mind was on overdrive and the incessant pounding in the back of her skull made its vengeful comeback.

The young Queen rubbed her temple as she approached her chambers, hoping to find solace in the quiet of her room to help alleviate her headache. When she was just steps away from the elegantly carved mahogany door of her room, a young page boy darted up to her side, bowing deeply.

"Apologies, your Highness," he began breathily, as though he'd been running for a while. "You have visitors."

Nasuada sighed lightly. "Tell them to wait until morning. Show them to a room in which they can stay for the night."

The page boy looked nervous. "Forgive me, my lady," he said, bowing again. "But she says its urgent."

The Queen considered his words for a moment, her mind finally recognizing what was happening. She nodded shortly in response. "Very well. Take me to her."

The page boy gracefully led the Queen down to the first floor of the castle, stopping before a nondescript room along one of the many hallways. Nasuada touched the knob on the door with a slight moment of hesitation. Turning to face her guards, she dismissed the page boy before requesting them to wait beside the door.

"Nobody enters after I do," she told them. "Do not let anyone see and walk away with the knowledge that I am in here." The guards cast each other wary glances before agreeing to their Queen's request. She knew it was unconventional, but some secrets were meant to keep under wraps. She entered the room swiftly, letting the door close behind her.

The room was small with a few crates tucked here and there upon a dusting of hay littering the ground. A single window let the light of the rising moon into the otherwise dark storage room. In the darker corner of the room, two bright eyes lifted up to meet hers. A young girl, no older than eleven, stood from where she sat upon the crates, smiling thinly at the Queen. She was dressed in dark traveling clothes, a short blade sheathed at her side. Her dark hair was pulled away from her face and tied at the crown of her head, accentuating her unnerving violet eyes. Standing just behind her was a tall, burly man with a crooked nose, dressed in similar clothing, a serious frown drawing at his lips.

"Elva, Garven," Nasuada greeted. The leader of the Nighthawks nodded in response to his Queen. Elva merely smiled.

"I hear things have been busy around here lately," the girl commented smartly. "How is the Red Rider anyway?"

Nasuada ignored Elva's question, knowing that the girl was more aware of things than she wanted her to be. "I have to admit," she said instead. "I did not expect either of you back here so soon. Are the other Nighthawks with you as well?"

"No, my Lady," Garven responded. "We brought few back with us, but we mainly traveled on our own. The rest remain in Surda."

Nasuada frowned. "For you to be so secretive you must have a reason for coming in such a manner."

"We cannot trust anyone but ourselves with such delicate information," Garven explained seriously.

The Queen pressed her lips together, containing her surprise. "You worry that there are spies in the Nighthawks."

"Spy is not the right word," Elva injected, folding her thin arms. "Someone is double-crossing us."

Silence fell between the three of them as the girl's words sunk in. A few years after the establishment of Nasuada's rule, the young Queen decided that the guards she had during the war could be used for more than just following her around. Still made up of members from the different races of Alagaësia, the Nighthawks became more than just a famed group of guards that followed the Queen around; she had decently capable guards for that already. Instead, after a consult with the leaders and members of the force, she reassigned the troop to execute missions that she trusted no others to do, while maintaining utmost secrecy.

Two years prior, Elva started to make indications that the Nighthawks interested her. Up until then, she spent a lot of time in Nasuada's presence, and the Queen quickly caught onto the girl's fascination with the force. While she was by no means the best warrior of the group, her unique ability gave her an edge that could be best utilized through the specialized work of the Nighthawks, and over the two years she spent in the troop, she quickly became a force to be reckoned with. She was regarded as the Soothesayer for how easily she could obtain information from even the most tight-lipped of people without the aide of magic. She was young, but respected in her own right among those who knew her.

Garven was the unofficial leader of the Nighthawks, only by close association with the Queen and Elva, and his unfailing loyalty towards Nasuada made him the ideal go-to man for the troop. She had no reason to distrust him, and if Elva believed him to be trustworthy, Nasuada would believe him. He was a pensive man who took his job seriously, and gave good thought to every word that he said. During the war, Nasuada was worried that he would not be able to commit his full ability towards the Nighthawks after his rather odd reactions to reading the minds of the elves that came with Blödhgarm, but after a few years he proved to be quite formidable, his interactions with the elves giving him more of a dangerous, thoughtful edge. She knew by past experiences that if this man believed there to be treachery among her Nighthawks, then she should not stop to consider truthfulness of such a statement. Regardless, the knowledge still pulled uncomfortably at her mind.

"You are certain?" Nasuada asked quietly.

"Our people remain the same, but our information is leaking," Garven explained. "The Surdians know our movements. We are not finding out as much as we had hoped, and it is clear that they plan to lead us along a dead-end path. They know we are onto them, and they are covering their trails throughly."

"But treachery?" the Queen asked.

"When we started to realize that something was going awry, we decided to plant a bug," Elva said. "We told select groups different instructions in regards to what we planned to do next. We investigated the outcomes ourselves and realized that the Surdians had reacted to only some of the information we shared. We have narrowed it down to whom is passing the information, and when we find them…" Elva let her lips curl up in a dangerous smile. "Lets just say he will not be considering being a turncoat again."

Nasuada frowned. "How does this affect the mission, then? Is it too lost for us to proceed?"

"Of course not, your Highness," Garven said. "As per your request, only Elva and I know the true objective of this mission." Nasuada sighed in relief. "Beyond that, we do actually have some news that may interest you." The Queen nodded for him to continue. "Unfortunately, your hunch was correct, my Lady. There is movement in the underworld of Surda. As far as we know, it is not within the homeland itself, but out on the colonized islands. We are certain that King Orrin is unaware of the treachery occurring within his nation, and therefore has done nothing to stop the progress of those involved. They operate under a guise of victimized port merchants, instead sending their supposedly plundered merchandise to the islands where their main operations reside. We do not know what they do at the islands yet."

"The islands?" Nasuada repeated in surprise. She didn't realize that the situation was even more isolated than Surda itself. Garven nodded to confirm her inquire.

"We may not know their true intents quite yet," Elva added. "But gathering information is what we do best." She grinned, a devious look crossing her face. Sometimes, Nasuada could not believe that this girl was born only six years prior. She defied all logic in every sense of the word, but she was truly a creature of circumstance.

"I have full belief that you will be able to find what we need," the Queen began. "I agree that this information is crucial, but if it comes down to it, I would rather save lives than sacrifice them recklessly. If finding out their plans puts either of you, or the rest of the Nighthawks at risk, abort the mission. I will not have lives lost for the sake of being ahead of our enemies." Her eyes met with Elva's unique violet ones. "Keep yourselves aware of those who will out you. A traitor within the Nighthawks is inexcusable. When you find out who is feeding information behind our backs, allow me to deal with them accordingly."

"Yes, your Highness," Garven agreed with a short bow.

"Your worry is admirable," Elva said as they approached the window they entered through. "But, we will have your information the next time you see us. Meanwhile, we will keep in touch. Until then, Lady Nasuada."

They exited swiftly and quietly, leaving the Queen to contemplate their words. She sighed to herself, feeling her headache throbbing in the back of her head. The knowledge that her troubles weren't over yet, made her wary about the next couple days. She would have to be more thorough with her preparations before she left. Knowing that the the distraction of the Urgal Games puling some of the most important dignitaries away for a while, things could go south very, very quickly.

. . . . . . . . . . . .

Closing his eyes, Murtagh took a deep breath of the clean, crisp air, letting it fill his lungs with a deep, cooling sensation. Opening his eyes again, he observed the wide expanse of cool, clear water that lapped gently against his feet. He had never seen anything quite like it before. Brilliantly colored trees of old dotted the shoreline, their roots reaching into the crystalline waters, clearly visible beneath the glass-like surface of the water. As the pond reached farther back into the expanse of trees, a low-lying mist hung about the surface, coiling and moving among itself as if it were truly alive. Even with the small amount of shallow liquid pooled around his feet, he could feel a pressure along the back of his mind. The power given off by the spring was nearly tangible, but it was more than that. It nearly felt like the whole thing was alive.

"This is Biśud'dha Sprin. The Pure Spring."

Turning over his shoulder, his eyes locked with familiar warm, brown ones. Nasuada smiled at him, her hair unbound and flowing in the slight breeze. She held her hand out for him to take, which he didn't hesitate to do. Her fingers were cold against his warm skin. Her mind touched his gently. It was a familiar, comforting sensation, but not the one he was expecting. His lips turned down and he slowly dropped her hand.

"Who are you?" he asked.

Nasuada smiled. "I am merely the collective conscious of Biśud'dha Sprin. What you see is the projection your mind puts out of me." She lifted a hand towards him. "You seek what will relieve you from your ailment." She gently touched his stomach with her fingers. The water around his feet grew warm and comforting, tendrils of pleasant power trailing up through his legs. His eyes met hers again. "I am what you seek."

He opened his mouth, but as soon as her fingers fell away, another hand reached through him from behind. Pain exploded through him. Moist, hot breath panted upon his neck from behind, the clawed fingers of the Urgal King's hand curling in upon his stomach. With a sharp yank and an unbarable eruption of pain, reality hit him in the face.

His eyes shot open and he gasped for air, frantic fingers searching for the gaping hole that was just ripped through his stomach. His fingers met warm, unblemished skin and muscle, and he closed his eyes in desperate relief. Sweat laced his brow and soaked his hair, his heart still pounding fervently within his chest. There was a small throbbing that emanated from deep within his stomach, but he could not focus on it. It had been so long since he felt such a sharp sense of fear. He pressed the heels of his balmy hands against his eyes, trying to calm himself down.

_Are you alright?_ Thorn's conscious asked, a touch of fear within his own voice. Murtagh took a deep breath.

_I do not know what to think,_ the Rider responded. He sent a barrage of blurry images the dragon's way.

_A spring?_ Thorn asked. _Where is it?_

_I have no idea_, Murtagh responded, dropping his hands from his eyes before taking a deep breath. _But it is something. If we look into it, I feel like we might actually be onto something. _Letting that thought sink in for a bit, Murtagh pulled himself up into a sit. His back felt stiff and he realized he had hay sticking in his hair. He picked a few straws out, feeling Thorn shift behind him. _How are you feeling?_

_Better. The pain has gone away. _Thorn's head reached around to touch Murtagh's forehead in gratitude for his worry. _But talking about it is foolish. I am anxious to see this nest. No more waiting!_

Murtagh smiled. "No more waiting," he agreed.

**A/N:** Aaaand, we're starting to get somewhere! As always, thank you for reading and PLEASE drop a review to let me know if you like where this is all headed! On a different note, for those of you interested, I wrote up a fluffy MurtaghxNasuada one shot for pointless pleasure (and to feed my desire to write more romance) so if you would like to read it, look up _Touch_ in my profile!

Secondly, my co-author Suma Susaki drew up a map that coincides with what's described at the beginning of this chapter. If you're interested in seeing it, you can find that here: http : / / sarashots(dot)deviantart(dot)com/#/d4p0jx4

Slytha mor'ranr, iet, vinr: Sleep peacefully, my friend

Biśud'dha Sprin: the Pure Spring


	12. Chapter 12

_Pömnuria Hjarta er medh Ono_

**A/N:** Hi again you guys. Thanks for the support on the last chapter. Updates have been haunting me lately, and I apologize for the sudden and unexpected hiatus. I honestly don't like writing this arc of the story much, so writing it didn't come easy at all, so please forgive the short length of this chapter. That aside! This visiting arc is coming to a close and the next arc of the story is nearly going to begin, and I'm hoping that the interest in the subject matter may be a tad bit more enjoyable for me and you guys! So, with that, I finish my little distracting side talk.

I hope you guys aren't too disappointed by my severe fail of a chapter. ; _ ;

**Disclaimer:** Yeah… Plots always kick me in the ass in the long run. I honestly have no idea how I would ever be able to write four super long books with the same plot. Not mine.

ENJOY!

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When Eragon had said that the nest was at the heart of Skulblaka Nidum, Murtagh didn't realize that he legitimately meant the _heart._ As Murtagh and Thorn followed the blue Rider and his dragon, they were starting to realize that they were going deeper and deeper into the mountain itself, walking down long dark corridors light only by a few torches that Eragon lit along the way. The air was damper and heavier within the core of the mountain, filling their lungs with a musky, earthy chill. The deeper they walked, the more Murtagh started to notice a strange, alive feeling to the air. He eyed the walls, noting the hints of moss and trails of moisture upon the rocky surface.

"There's water within the mountain?" he inquired. Eragon gave him a small smile.

"This mountain is unique," the blue Rider explained. "When we first came here, the mountain's height was the reason we saw it, but not the reason we stayed. It felt as though the mountain itself were calling to us, asking us to let it shelter our young and nurture our budding order. I do not know how to explain it, but we knew this to be the place that we wanted to place Skulblaka Nidum. There are still secrets that even Saphira and I do not know about this place, but we know it is safe." Murtagh silently observed the walls as they walked further into the mountain. Eragon was right. It was truly a safe, natural stronghold.

Eventually, the air changed a bit as they traveled deeper. Thorn took deep, full breaths through his nose, smelling the air. A distinct lift in his shoulders and the quickening of his pace had Murtagh wondering just what exactly he was smelling in the air. After a while longer of walking, Murtagh noticed that Eragon stopped lighting torches, a light from the end of the tunnel illuminating the way. As they grew closer to the exit of the tunnel, Murtagh felt his breath leave his lungs in surprise.

The interior of the mountain was so much more than just a crevice within a mountain; it was a sanctuary. It was like an untouched world had grown within the hallowed interior of the tall mountain: trees reached for the ceiling of the mountain, their canopies wide and protective; grasses greener and softer than any Murtagh had ever seen stretched across the expanse of his eye, creating a calming meadow; a pond of bubbling, cool water lapped lazily near the trees, mixing a soft water sound with the sounds of nature encompassing the area. Near the seemingly distant top of the mountain, tunnels exiting to the outside let in clean air and natural light. The light struck glittering crystallites that seemingly grew from the walls, spreading the light evenly around the hallow mountain core. From the soft light cascading around them, a rainbow of glittering colors brought Murtagh's gaze to the Eldunari protecting the area from their resting places along the walls of the sanctuary.

Stepping slowly into the sanctuary, Murtagh could only stare. He could see three young dragons from where he stood. A small, wide-eyed purple dragon stood frozen in fear, crouching over the edge of the pool of crystal-like water, watching them carefully from where he sat. Higher up, a larger, bright yellow dragon swooped between perching spots along the mountain's rocky interior, letting out curious warning calls. The third dragon was the biggest, curled up comfortably upon a large, flat rock in the center of the room, eyes closed as its deep green scales reflected the incoming light.

"Believe it or not, but this was already here when we found the mountain," Eragon said, stepping up beside Murtagh. "Granted, we made a few necessary additions, like wards and the tunnels connecting to the castle, but the sanctuary is entirely nature-made. Saphira added her own touch to the place as well, which makes raising the dragons here feel almost natural. This is the true Skulblaka Nidum."

Murtagh could feel something truly powerful yet calming about the place, as if the air itself held magical properties. He could feel Thorn's wonder, and awe, his mind silent. The Rider felt similar, unable to come up with words that truly fit how he felt about it. "This is…" he trailed off, appropriate words escaping him.

Eragon smiled, understanding. "Makes it feel like everything that we have worked so hard for was worth it in the long run, doesn't it?" he asked quietly. Murtagh nodded mutely, a bubbling feeling of uncontainable joy growing in his chest. For as much as they had suffered, all the dark moments and hopeless days, knowing that the dragons were not coming to an end, and that the Riders were returning under the careful guidance of Eragon and Saphira, Murtagh finally felt a sense of relief. He turned to glance at his brother when Eragon's hand fell upon his shoulder. The blue Rider smiled.

"Would you like to meet them?"

They remained in the sanctuary for the better part of the morning, carefully meeting the younger dragons. The green one perched upon the rock gave the situation little heed, and merely sniffed Murtagh's brow twice before returning to his sunbathing. The very young purple one was second to approach them, but only after the insistence of Eragon. She was visibly shaking, mewling in protest as Eragon led her over to Murtagh and Thorn. After a quick, reluctant greeting, she darted off to hide behind some bushes near the pond, eyeing them from a distance. The yellow male proved to be the most rebellious out of the three and refused to come, even when his surrogate mother called. He was by no means nervous of Thorn or Murtagh, there was no hesitation to connect their minds together on his part. He sent a barrage of images and feelings their way, connected by the cries and bellows he would let out as he swooped over them. It wasn't until Saphira let out a low, threatening growl that the yellow dragon finally touched ground, hanging his head lowly like a reprimanded child. He greeted them both very vocally, making even Thorn flinch away at the young dragon's unique chatter. What surprised Murtagh the most was the reoccurring image of Eragon upon Saphira's back that kept coming from the young dragon's mind. When Murtagh inquired upon it, Eragon merely shrugged.

"He is rather enamored by the idea of having a Rider. I'm honestly not quite sure why," he explained. They were both briefly distracted as a shimmer glinted off of them, the graceful form of Aranthi gliding into the sanctuary from an opening near the top. She circled the room a few times before coming in for a landing near the rock that the green one lounged upon. They greeted each other familiarly before the glittering white dragon turned to associate with Thorn and Saphira. "We actually have a fifth dragon hatchling," Eragon was saying. "But unlike the ones we house here, he ended up being more wild than any of us could imagine. He was only here for a short while before he flew off to live out in the fire mountains just off the North coastline. Occasionally, Saphira and I will fly out to check up on him, but he prefers his solitude." A small smile pulled at the Rider's lips. "The number of diverse dragons we have here is truly astounding. I feel so lucky to have the chance to see them all grow up before me."

Murtagh nodded, watching Aranthi and Thorn greet each other with a small moment of hesitation before settling to speak to each other in their unique dragon ways. He turned back to Eragon, catching the thoughtful, calculating look upon his brother's face. A twinge of fear shot through his stomach at the other Rider's expression. Eragon sighed lightly, lowering his crossed arms to adopt a stance that conveyed helpfulness.

"I know you have your secrets, Murtagh," he began slowly. "And I will not make you tell them if you do not wish to. But, even I know that you would not come here merely for the sake of visiting."

The red Rider avoided his gaze, staring out at the distant, glittering walls of the sanctuary. He knew this was going to come up eventually. Eragon was more than gracious about letting him approach the subject on his own, but he supposed he had waited long enough. Sighing lightly, and feeling Thorn's encouragement in the back of his head, he nodded his head once, decisively.

"Is there somewhere we can speak in private?" he asked quietly. It was silly of him to think that the information he was going to tell wouldn't be shared with Saphira, or any of the dragons around the area, but it comforted him a bit to be out of the cooly intelligent eyes that judged his very being. Eragon was understanding in his plight. He led them back down the tunnel they came in, letting the sanctuary disappear behind them.

. . . . . . . . . . . .

His eyes kept trailing back to the opening of the tunnel, despite the fact that Thorn knew Murtagh to be okay. He recognized that they had casted a silence spell over where they stood, and even thought Thorn could still feel Murtagh's mind in the back of his, his thoughts were silent to the dragon. Settling with a slightly uncomfortable feeling, Thorn laid his head down upon the soft grass below him. There was a soft rumble from the white dragon and a flurry of images entered the red dragon's head. One of his own worried expression, and the way his head would turn towards the entrance. There was confusion and a question.

_Why do you worry?_ Saphira's voice gently asked. Thorn sighed lightly out his nose.

_Habit,_ he responded. _Everything bad that happens to us happens when he leaves me behind. _

A picture of Murtagh walking away. A hatchling struggling to fly. Thorn growled lowly towards Aranthi at the insult. _I am not._

_Stop it,_ Saphira warned, leveling an eye at the white dragon. Aranthi merely turned away, seemingly ignoring her surrogate mother. Saphira turned to look at Thorn again. _Continue, please._

_What is there to say? _Thorn asked. _I cannot follow him everywhere, and he can take care of himself. That should be reason enough. _

Saphira sighed through her nose. _You are acting like a hatchling._

Thorn lifted his head indignantly. _What is it with you two? I am NOT acting like a hatchling!_

_Then you are squandering your dragon pride for helplessness and pouting._ Saphira leveled a serious eye his way. He glared up at her, but shifted his glare over at the white dragon when he heard her snickering laughter. He felt a tinge of embarrassment and was tempted to just fly off to one of the caves dotting the sanctuary's walls, but his bruised ego refused to let him run away and brood about it.

Saphira's low chuckle came to match her adopted daughter's. _Please do not be angry. We are merely teasing you._ There was a flurry of images suggesting that Aranthi was not. Saphira flicked her tail over the younger dragon's hide, pulling an undignified yelp from the white dragon's maw. _Behave._ Aranthi was embarrassed to be reprimanded by her mother and tucked her head away to hide her shame. Thorn let a low chuckle out, but clamped his maw shut at the look Saphira shot him. _I understand how you may be feeling, Thorn. But you are notorious for acting out on your panic. Patience is a must during times like these. Especially the ones where your Rider is still safe. _

Thorn sighed lightly. _Yes. You are right. Perhaps I am too nervous. _

_Yet you are foolish for allowing such a dark and dangerous thing inside you and your Rider's body in your absence. _Umaroth's deeply wise voice filled Thorn's mind, causing him to lower his head a little nervously. _I do believe I warned you not to stray near the Barrows of Anghelm, young dragon._

Thorn tucked his head downward, shame pumping through his veins. _We heeded your warning, Ebrithil. I will not make excuses. It was my foolish mistake to allow him to leave my side in a place so dangerous. _

Umaroth's voice was kinder when he spoke again. _Not all of us are capable of perfection. I hoped for your sake and your Riders that you would find peace rather than more hard struggles. Regardless of your foolishness, we will not abandon you in your time of need. That is even more dishonorable._

_Whatever you may need, we will help you find it,_ Saphira said kindly. Thorn was humbled by their offers, feeling a little less defeated by the confrontation of the white Eldunari.

_Thank you,_ he said humbly. _Murtagh believes that we may find a solution to our problem at a place called the __Biśud'dha Sprin__. A dream came to him the night before suggesting that we can erase the curse within its waters. Do you know of it?_

_The name you speak is one of the old Urgal secrets,_ Umaroth replied thoughtfully. _Urgal legends claim that if one drinks the spring water, any illness, any wound will be cured. Its a carefully guarded secret of the Urgals. I know not much about it aside from its name and legend. _

Saphira was silent for a moment, listening to a voice Thorn couldn't hear. _My Rider believes that the best way to find a place unknown by so many is to ask the source. Consulting the Urgals themselves may prove to be the best solution you have to find the spring. _

The red dragon thought on that for a long moment, a knot of worry turning within his mind. _If we were the ones to walk into the sacred Urgal grounds and receivers of the curse, why would Urgalfolk willingly let us in on their greatest secrets?_ There was a silence in which Saphira glanced over at Umaroth's Eldunari, awaiting his answer.

_They will not tell you if you ask, _he finally admitted. _You will have to think of a way to win their respect, and therefore, their trust. _

Thorn considered Umaroth's words, reacting when he heard the returning footsteps of his and Saphira's Riders. _Thank you for your advice, Ebrithril. Saphira. I will keep it in the forefront of my mind._

Saphira nodded sagely at Thorn's gratitude, turning to greet her Rider warmly. Eragon smiled at Saphira's attention, but turned to look at Thorn instead.

"You are a truly magnificent dragon, Thorn," he said. "Murtagh is lucky to have you as his partner."

Feeling bashful at the compliment, the red dragon met his Rider's gaze, noting the calm, appreciative glint in his eyes. _Thank you, Eragon. Your words are most kind._ Eragon smiled, turning towards his dragon to give the other Rider time with his dragon.

_You and I both know he is not just being kind,_ Murtagh's voice said. They shared a meaningful glance, but the Rider broke the gaze, a tendril of worry floating through their link. _I know you may not want to hear this… but I think it's time for us to leave._ _We can take our time flying back, but… I feel like its time._

Thorn knew that his rider was itching to leave; all the attention focused on him was making _both_ of them wary. And while he thought he would feel a little regretful when he left the budding members of his kind, Thorn agreed with him easily. There was a time and place for everything, and this sort of peace would have to wait a while. The sanctuary here was a safe one, and he had no doubts that the hatchlings here would be safe under the protective watch of Saphira and her Rider. A part of him wanted to stay, but his heart was where his Rider was. He knew he would follow Murtagh to the ends of the World without a second thought. The elation in his belly told him it was an obligation born of love rather than duty.

_I appreciate the thought, brother,_ Murtagh said softly through their link. _But I may not always be the best lead to follow._

_Foolish or not, I will still follow you,_ Thorn admitted. _Just say the word._

Murtagh sighed lightly in reluctant acceptance, reaching up to scratch the scales on Thorn's chin. The red dragon hummed lightly, pushing his nose against the Rider's chest in a half-dragon hug.

_I'm sorry to do this to you again, Thorn,_ Murtagh murmured miserably. Thorn rolled his big ruby eyes, nudging his Rider none too lightly in the chest.

_The day you sprout wings and can fly the both of us back to the capitol will be the day that I let you rule how I think._ The dragon snorted. _You would look ridiculous with wings._

Murtagh rolled his eyes. _What are you trying to get at?_

_You need me, _Thorn stated. _And I chose to be here. This is my happiness, so stop mulling over pointless worries._

Murtagh chuckled a bit, leaning back to show a wide grin. _If that was what you were trying to say, your tact is still tactless._ Thorn huffed but accepted the light-hearted insult. Thorn mulled over the idea of feeling the wind back under his wings as the leagues rushed away beneath them. There was a brief moment in which dragon and Rider shared the same thought, a distant and mysterious spring that promised so much.

_Tonight? _Thorn inquired. Murtagh's agreement was nearly palpable.

_Tonight._

. . . . . . . . . . . .

**A/N:** I apologize for the ridiculously short and really lame chapter. ; _ ; I promise the next one will be more fulfilling with the return of our most favored pairing. The wait won't be as extreme either, that much I can guarantee. I hope you liked what little was there… for all its worth.

On another note, I've uploaded a picture of Aranthi on my DeviantArt, so give it a look if you'd like: http : / / firexenigma(dot)deviantart(dot)com / art /Pomnuria-Hjarta-er-medh-Ono-Aranthi-29295084


	13. Chapter 13

_Pömnuria Hjarta er medh Ono_

**A/N:** Surprise update! Thanks so much for all the great feedback on the last chapter. I was super unconfident about the performance of my writing. :/ BUT, we're getting back into the swing of things, and I'm happy to give you guys another, hopefully more awesome, chapter! So, in apology for the long hiatus and the short chapter, I give you chapter 13 in which I PROMISE, you will enjoy. ;)

**Disclaimer:** If _Inheritance Cycle_ was mine, there would have been kissing. Like, seriously, CP.Not mine.

ENJOY!

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They managed to stick around for a few hours more, conversing casually with Eragon and the dragons. The sanctuary was such a calming place to both Murtagh and Thorn that they remained in the glittering crevice, contentedly lounging upon the soft grasses. As time went by, the other dragons were curious enough to take up spots in the field, with a decent space between them and Thorn, and joined in on the conversation. The young purple dragon was shy, but really astute, while the yellow one still flooded them with chatter. Eragon told them about their first hatchling Ashar, a charcoal grey dragon who's naturally wild nature led him to nearly permanently live his days in or near the fire mountains.

After a while, Aranthi approached Thorn shyly, keeping her head low in what Thorn said to be an apology. Murtagh watched with a slight smile as the two dragons touched noses. He was happy for him. Thorn deserved happiness after everything they had been through. He hated having to take him away from this kind of happiness, but just the knowledge alone of Thorn's chance at happiness had Murtagh feeling more determined than ever before to rid themselves from the curse that plagued them.

Despite their calm, fulfilling moments, the time of departure drew near, and it lingered between the two of them, humming in anticipation along their mental link. Even though it was not said aloud, Eragon was completely aware that they planned to leave that evening. After a hearty dinner, they made their way to the courtyard, the dragons whispering farewells to each other as Murtagh stood facing his brother.

"I know you came here with a different purpose, but thank you for staying," Eragon said. Murtagh shifted lightly, Zar'roc jangling at his hip. Its familiar weight reminded him of all the struggles they overcame, every battle they had with each other. He remembered the blood, the anger, the caution. He remembered being so certain that even after their final battle, there would never be a way for them to retain the friendship they had before fate clawed them apart. And yet, there was kindness and understanding in his brown eyes, a patience grown from wisdom in the way he dealt with things, especially with Murtagh. In the end, Murtagh greatly appreciated Eragon's method of handling their delicate relationship, and as they stood facing each other to part again, Murtagh couldn't help but feel a sense of true brotherly companionship.

"Thank you for understanding," the red Rider said quietly. Eragon's lips twitched up into a smile, and he reached out a hand to grip Murtagh's shoulder companionably.

"You are always welcome here, brother," he said. "I hope you find what you are looking for."

There was a twinge in the red Rider's chest that compelled him to place his own hand on Eragon's shoulder, meeting his eyes seriously. "When this is resolved, I will return. For longer next time."

Eragon's smile widened. "I look forward to it."

They shared a few more moments before Murtagh broke away to climb upon Thorn's back. He could feel Thorn's desire to feel the wind beneath his wings like it was his own feelings. He voiced a few more farewells before the red dragon took to the skies with a powerful launch. As the Skulblaka Nidum grew smaller behind them, wistful feelings about staying melted into the well-known feeling of traveling. Back in a comfortable, familiar niche, they two flew on, goal in mind and a drive to meet it.

. . . . . . . . . . . . .

If there was something Nasuada disliked about being Queen, it was the endless amounts of false courtesy given to her. People walked on eggshells around her, and treated her with sugar-coated politeness that had her cringing on the inside. It wasn't hard for her to see through these types of people, but she kept a gracious smile upon her lips, as per what was required of her. It was bearable within Ilirea, but outside of the capitol, the sickeningly sweet attention rather annoyed her. With every "your majesty" and "my ladyship" she fought the urge to chuck something at the person talking to her. Perhaps she was feeling a little too strung out lately.

Upon her arrival at the merchant city of Gil'ead, too many people were insistent that she stay in the _nicest_ most _luxurious _rooms that the city had to offer. There was a ridiculous amount of arguing that happened, and despite Nasuada's personal preference of staying in just a regular, nondescript room, she took up an offer granted towards her, and promised to give each inn the opportunity to house the Queen during her stay. It was all just a matter of ego and advertising advantages. She realized that by hosting the Urgal Games, Gil'ead would be benefiting by a dramatic economic boost, but the things she had to put up with to help _encourage_ such a boom were numerously tedious.

Finally settling in her nicely furnished room, the Queen unceremoniously flopped down on her bed, her bun pressing uncomfortably against the back of her skull. She was exhausted. They had only arrived in the city that morning, and she was still feeling a little discomforted by the long ride when reality called again. She met up with the various dignitaries in charge of the Urgal Games and the young, inexperienced Lord in charge of Gil'ead. It was clear that his inexperience holding the financial and political reins of such a war-broken city was making the recovery process slow, and after much consideration, Nasuada was resigned to admit that an advisor needed to be appointed to help point him in the right direction.

The meeting with Nar Garzhvog went much smoother than her other meetings. The Urgal leader was respectful in his own way, but he treated her like a regular person rather than an idol, and the bluntness of his speech was refreshing to her. Things looked to be in working order, and after a brief inspection of the actual grounds that the Games would be taking place at, she took up a small, private dinner and returned to her temporary quarters. The night had hardly fallen, but despite her exhaustion, her mind kept reeling.

She figured she should have been used to the idea that her life was constantly in danger, especially out of the protective walls of Ilirea. The council refused to allow her to leave without at least three magicians and their best guards to provide protection. The last Urgal Games went along without a problem, but her security was nearly suffocatingly tight. It wasn't quite as bad this year, but the incident with the poison lingered in the back of her mind. She would have to stay on her toes through the rest of the stay.

Yet, despite the severity of such things going on around her, she would still catch her mind wandering in her down time. If the talks were too dry, or the formalities too lengthy, Nasuada would catch herself recalling soft words spoken in the Ancient Language, gentle lips against the skin of her forehead, warm hands and strong fingers laced through the tresses of her unbound hair. It was so brief, and yet said so much. The memory of that night lingered in her mind and haunted her dreams, pulling on long repressed feelings of loneliness that she refused to acknowledge. She continued to tell herself that it was useless to think of these things. With the Games officially starting in a couple days she kept reminding herself that he was coming back. He promised.

And yet, a lingering dark thought had her wondering, _what if he doesn't?_ _What if he can't?_ She wouldn't hold it against him if he ended up missing the whole thing for better reasons, but she trusted him to keep his word. He promised her once before that he would come back, and he did. So what reason would he have to go back on his word when it wasn't in his nature to do so? She venomously squashed any thought that started with _what if_ from that point on.

_Think about something else, Nasuada,_ she chastised herself. Pushing herself into a sit, she began to pull out the pins keeping her hair together. It was a methodical task that kept her busy, but her mind still had time to wander. She avoided the darker thoughts dancing on the edge of her mind, instead recalling what it felt like to fly on Thorn's back. She remembered the wind on her face, the wind in her hair, the feeling of the dragon's muscles pumping beneath her legs. It was all so very surreal and awe inspiring. Yet what stuck out the most was the one look she caught on Murtagh's face as they took a turn. She had cast a glance over her shoulder as Thorn banked lightly, the moon illuminating the soft curve of his lips and the undeniably _happy_ glow to his eyes. She had known him so long as a serious, troubled man. That brief moment of contentment pulled on a place somewhere deep within her chest, and since then the image of his joyful smile was the first thing she would think of when she thought of him.

Absentmindedly, she stared down at one of her hairpins, twisting it around in her fingers. She had to admit, there was something about this Murtagh in comparison to the one she had grown fond of during her capture that spoke volumes. When she was just intrigued by the idea of him during her time of need, his return was something else entirely. He seemed stronger, both of heart and body, more prepared to take on the things that fate threw his way. Her heart hurt for both him and his dragon when she heard about their curse, but she didn't stop to pity them for it. She was amazed to see that despite their unfortunate circumstance, both held a sense of determination that said "I have had worse happen to me. I refuse to let this bother me." She remembered a man of broken spirit who was just given his life back and was unsure what to do with it. He was more confident with himself now, and there was something undeniably attractive about that.

She caught herself on the word "attractive," letting the word linger in her head for a while. She'd be foolish as a woman to not admit to Murtagh's attractiveness. He was ruggedly handsome with his longer than normal dark hair, sun-tanned skin and slight stubble. Everything about him just felt so undeniably _male_ to her. His broad shoulders, his large hands, the strong muscle that moved beneath his skin. Even his usual frown had a pull of masculinity in the fall of his mouth, accentuating the sharpness of his cheekbones and the set of his jaw. Yet, he had a touch of softness to him that she saw on rare occasions. His mischievous smile when he joked with Thorn, the kindness she saw him show for the dragon, and sometimes, when he looked at her.

She pulled the last pin out of her hair, feeling it fall freely down her back. Sighing lightly, she flopped back down on the bed again. She was hopeless. The High Ruler of a powerful empire sighing wistfully about boys. How childish it seemed. And yet, she knew it wasn't. There was something undeniably true that lingered between them that was so much more than what words could do justice. It was an unquestioned, accepted truth.

There was a pang of loneliness that sparked through her chest, which she immediately reacted to by moving to do something else. Finally finished with her hair, she moved to blow out the wispy candles set around her room. The night was a moonless one and she just wanted to feel the darkness for a while, let the night rule. The last candle winked out of existence, she sat back down upon the bed, listening to the silence as she allowed her eyes to adjust to the darkness. After a while, she sighed audibly. Waiting was significantly harder when there was a time frame involved.

She considered changing into her nightgown, but couldn't find the drive to get up to go find it. She toyed with the idea of just sleeping in her dress, but dropped the thought when something else occurred to her. It started out light, but she felt the slight pull a the back of her mind that came as such a familiar shock that her heart immediately leapt into a race. Hands shaky, she slowly stood from her bedside, anxiously turning to look at the window.

One heartbeat. Another.

A small unlatching sound filled the air and the singular window pushed inward. He pulled himself through the opening, careful to not make a noise, and Nasuada was suddenly hit with an impulse so strong that she didn't stop to think before she was practically running across the room. Feet pounded across the wood floor, fingers reached up to thread through hair; his hands were hot as one closed possessively behind her back, the other tangling itself in the hair behind her head. Her face pressed up against his neck as his forehead fell upon her shoulder, their embrace tight.

A warm, comforting feeling embraced her deep within, spreading through her chest until it felt as though she could hardly breathe. His hold on her was almost painful from how tightly he held her, but she responded with just as much force. Gods, how she had missed him!

She attempted to pull away after a moment, but his grip wouldn't allow it, merely relaxing their hold slightly to give her some space. She breathed slowly, carefully, a wide smile gracing her face as she pressed her face against his neck.

"I knew you would come back," she whispered. His lips twitched into a small smile against the skin of her neck.

"I promised I would," he said quietly. "I have missed you, Nasuada."

Her smile only grew wider. "The days have been long since you left," she said softly. He pulled away from her shoulder to press his lips lightly against her forehead. Her heart fluttered at the soft press of his lips against her skin. "It matters not how long you stay; I am happy to have you now."

Murtagh's smile was soft. "I will stay for however long you need me."

"A dangerous proposition," she joked softly. "I may never let you leave."

His lips kept the smile, but there was a distant longing in his eyes. He lifted a hand to gently trace the line of her cheekbone. "A home where I am accepted and needed is more than I could possibly wish for," he said quietly. "I cannot stay here for very long. I only wished to let you know of our arrival. We meant to officially arrive tomorrow, but I could not wait to see you. We will stay out of the borders of Gil'ead for the time being, and let our presence be known when the time is right. I'm sure you know exactly when that time will be."

"Of course," she said quietly, ignoring the small feeling of disappointment that twisted in her heart. "The opening festivities will start at noon in the heart of the city. I was not aware that you wanted to make a dramatic entrance."

He pulled a face. "I'd much rather not. If anything, I would prefer to stay nondescript, but other duties call for my presence to be more known."

"What exactly would that be?" she asked curiously.

"During our visit, we came across some information that could be extremely valuable to our situation," he explained vaguely. "It is a carefully guarded secret of the Urgal race, and in order to hear more about it, we must earn their trust. Thorn suggested presenting myself confidently to the festivities since the Urgals respect those who are proud of their heritage more than those who hide from it." He seemed rather against that idea. "Is there a chance that I could obtain an audience with Nar Garzhvog to discuss such things?"

Nasuada considered his words. "Thorn has the right idea, but if my years of diplomacy meetings with them says anything, the Urgals have always been more receptive to action than discussions."

"Then I should attack first and ask questions later?" Murtagh asked suspiciously. "I doubt that would go over well."

A thought came to Nasuada. "Might I make a suggestion?" she inquired, almost giddily. He nodded, feeling a little skeptical. "Fight in the Games."

He stared at her. "What?"

"Fight in the Games," she repeated. "It is perfect. A test of will and might, proving your worth among the Urgals. All who have won the games have gone on to great prestige among their tribes, and I could imagine that if you at least made it to the final match, the Urgals would consider you worthy enough for their respect, which is well on the way to earning their trust. And it is multi-beneficial. Without the aid of magic, you can fight them on equal standing and earn your respect back among the people of Alagaësia."

He hesitated to respond, but she could tell that the idea had planted inside of his mind. It wouldn't take her much effort to convince him from here on, and she was confident that Thorn, as astute as he was, would encourage the endeavor. She had been to every Urgal Games since its creation, but she couldn't deny how excited she was becoming for this one. She had great confidence in Murtagh, even if he didn't believe he had confidence in himself yet.

"I will give it thought," he said softly, his mind reeling. "But in the meantime, I must leave."

Nasuada felt a twinge of reluctance, but nodded her head. "I understand."

He leaned forward briefly to place a soft, chaste kiss upon her cheek. "The wait shall be shorter this time. I will see you soon, _pömnuria __**ástir**_." They reluctantly pulled from their embrace, Murtagh flashing her a soft smile before he disappeared through the open window. Nasuada distantly watched him make his way through the empty streets of Gil'ead towards the edge of town, the warm air of the night fluttering through her unbound hair.

. . . . . . . . . . . . .

pömnuria **astir: my love**


	14. Chapter 14

_Pömnuria Hjarta er medh Ono_

**A/N:** Regardless of whether or not you guys read my author's notes, I have to take a moment to say this: You guys are by far, the most wonderful readers any author could ever have. Your feedback has given me so much inspiration (even in my moments of reluctance to write) and I take everything you guys say to heart. So, thank you so much for everything you guys have done for me, as an author. :) That aside, I apologize for how long this took to shove out. Life got in the way for a while. Otherwise, Enjoy!

Also: for the Urgal language, there wasn't much to go on from the books, so I've fallen back on Russian for most of my words, and tweaked a couple others. For those who understand Russian, I apologize for my horrid grammar! I speak English and some Japanese. All my knowledge of Russian is what Google Translate has given me. Forgive me. As always, translations are at the bottom.

**Disclaimer:** If I wrote _Inheritance,_ I would avoid the political stuff like the plague. Why am I writing it in my story again…? D: Not mine.

ENJOY!

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Even though it was her third time being at the Urgal Games, Nasuada still felt the twinge of joy that came from seeing so many people from Alagaësia celebrating together at once. The festivities were scheduled to begin at high noon, but the excitement of the people was hard to contain, and most had begun their cheerful celebrations much earlier. Urgals, humans and dwarves partook in the drinking of ale; children of all races played in the streets; elves and humans plucked at the strings of instruments, singing merry tunes while others danced cheerfully nearby. The young Queen couldn't resist the smile that broke across her face at the sights.

It wasn't a secret to the people who came to visit. Gil'ead was still ravaged by the war. Skeletons of abandoned forts stood around the edges of the city, the buildings still held the scars of decisive battles. Yet, the people had woken early to decorate the streets of Gil'ead, giving the city a sense of life and spirit. The merchants had shops set up along the lines of the streets, selling everything from food to merchandise specifically made to promote the knew from past experience that their profits from selling their merchandise during the games would give them a huge boost for their economy and within the economic high that followed the Games, they would have enough time to think up permanent solutions towards their rebuilding problem. In the meantime, the people of Gil'ead and their visitors were undeniably happy.

The crowd cheered as she rode by upon her white stallion, and she waved pleasantly. At the stage set up in the heart of the city, she took up her place in one of the many elegantly carved seats reserved for the dignitaries and leaders, visiting and in charge of the games. She pleasantly greeted the young Lord of Gil'ead, and the two tall Urgals in charge of the Games she had met the day before. She glanced over at the three empty seats beside her, noting the missing faces from the line of dignitaries. Arya yet again could not make the Games herself, but promised her friend that she would send an ambassador this time, if just to spread the word of the Games to the elves. The fairer folk had yet to participate in the Games themselves, but had started attending the viewing more often. Nasuada was pleased to see a few more angular faces within the crowd. She wasn't entirely convinced if Orik would show up again this year, but he greatly enjoyed the events within the games, especially the final battles, and she couldn't imagine him missing it. She just figured she arrived before he did. Distantly, she wondered if Orrin was planning on skipping out on the festivities yet again this year, or if he'd actually make an appearance. He wasn't really one for sitting out in the sweltering heat just for the sake of appearances. She couldn't deny her hopes that he wouldn't.

She made small talk with the Lord of Gil'ead for a while before the ambassador of the elves arrived, a tall elf with a regal set to his shoulders. He mainly kept to himself, but she managed to pull the name Finwë out of him in their meaningless small talk. Just as she thought, Orik did manage to show up, but they barely spared a few words before the roar of the crowd drown them out.

From down the street, Nasuada could see the procession of the Champion, led by Nar Garzhvog himself. The people crowded the streets, cheering as the bulky Urgals made their way down the street, trumpeting sounds upon their bone horns. A chorus of horn calls rose from the crowd as an echo, from Urgals and humans alike, almost as a honorific call for the Champion. Nasuada wasn't surprised that the people had chosen to idolize the First Champion. He was a very unique Urgal, short in stature and smaller in body size than the norm for most Urgals. And yet, he rose against the largest slew of some of the most powerful Urgals and came out on the top. Seen as an underdog, Razdavit became an inspiration to people regardless of race to join the Games and give themselves a chance to prove their worth to the world. Since the first Games, humans and dwarves had both taken their shot at glory, to become the next underdog Champion.

The procession converged upon the stage, Garzhvog taking up the helm of the stage to address the people. One of the magicians nearby the stage inquired if they should cast a spell to project his voice. The Kull merely laughed.

"_Dobro požalovat'!_" he boomed, startling the magician beside him. The crowd roared in response to the Urgal leader's greeting. "Friends! Brothers! Sisters!" The crowd cheered again, just as loud. "I welcome you, the third Urgralgra Games!" He let the crowd's buzz go on for a while before continuing. "I see great many warriors before me! Many strong contenders for the helm of Champion! Will it be Urgralgra?" Deep throated cheering. "Gnomr?" Loud shouting. "Chelovek?" The loudest cheer yet came from the voices of the humans in the crowd. Garzhvog lifted his big fist into the air to pull another, loud cheer from the crowd before him.

"We have great Games for you this year!" he shouted. "Agility! Strength! Speed! Each contender tests their worth through three challenges! And, the strongest fights the Champion, Razdavit!" The crowd was deafeningly loud as the small Urgal lifted his hands in recognition. A guttural chant filled the air, repeating the Urgal's name over and over, followed by a few trumpets of bone horns.

"_Razdavit! Razdavit! Razdavit!_"

Nar Garzhvog lifted a hand to quell the shouts, which dwindled away at his sign. He gestured back towards where Nasuada and the other dignitaries were seated. "Your Gamemaster, Milek!" The crowd cheered.

A tall Urgal seated beside Nasuada stood at the call of his name, taking up a place beside his leader. For the past three years, Milek had diligently planned the challenges and obstacles for the contestants to overcome, which had been received with much enthusiasm. Milek had a brilliant mind for an Urgal, possibly more brilliant than some of Nasuada's personal advisors. He had a good grasp on several languages, and knew his history quite well. But most of all, Milek was a remarkable strategist. He had been following a different tribe during the Rider war, and Nasuada couldn't help but wish that they had his mind on their side when they were attacking Galbatorix. He was given the chance to develop the Games themselves during the first year, and his plans had gone over so well that they had kept him as Gamemaster without plans to replace him any time soon.

"Peoples of Alagaësia!" he called, just as loudly as Nar Garzhvog had. His voice had an elegant touch to its guttural sound. "With the setting of Gil'ead beside us, contestants will perform three challenges upon different terrains to prove their aptitude as warriors!" The crowd cheered again. "First! We have the crowd favorite: the battle royal of strength! Secondly, we have the test of speed, in which contestants will swim the length of Lake Isenstar from the forest of Du Weldenvarden all the way back to the shores of Gil'ead! And finally, the trail of agility, in which we take our setting to the peak of Mount Marna! Contestants will battle, climb and survive for-"

A shadow fell over the stage, causing Milek's words to trail off in surprise. A low murmur of confusion rose from the crowd before gasps and small shrieks echoed from the streets. Sunlight glinted off the red scales of Thorn as he circled the location of the festivities, Murtagh perched upon his back. Nasuada's heart leapt into a nervous gait at the sight of him.

The red dragon banked over the tops of the buildings, coasting gradually downward to land a good distance away from the heart of the crowd. Even though he was a ways away, people screamed and scrambled to get out of the path of the dragon. The bubbling nervousness was starting to grow within the crowd, becoming more profound with every passing minute. Nasuada cursed him silently, waving her head guard over to initiate crowd control. Presenting oneself confidently was one thing, initiating a riot was another. She quickly ran through her options to calm the masses. A wide-spread panic was on the cusp of happening, and she needed to think of something. Fast.

_"SILENCE!_"

An eerie hush fell over the crowd following Nar Garzhvog's command. From down the road, Nasuada could see the crowd warily parting as the infamous red Dragon Rider walked towards the stage. The sound of his boots falling against the cobblestone was deafening in the silence. Even at the distance between them, Nasuada could see the tense set to his jaw and shoulder as she slowed to a stop before the dignitaries. She could tell that he was just as nervous as the people around him, but he acted it down. He wasn't about to let them know how precarious his situation really was. Nasuada gripped the arm of her chair anxiously. She could see Orik steaming with anger beside her, nearly ready to leap from his seat at the sight of the red Rider. She prayed for things to work out.

Nar Garzhvog was the one to break the silence. "Rider. Why have you come?"

Murtagh squared his shoulders and unflinchingly met the Kull's intense gaze. His voice was surprisingly clear when he spoke. "I wish to participate. To prove myself and regain my honor. For me, and for the people of Alagaësia." There was a silence that followed. Murtagh's voiced lowered a bit as he continued to speak. "You, of all people, should understand my plight, Nar Garzhvog."

A low murmur whispered through the crowd while Garzhvog considered his words. "Very well, Shur'tugal," he finally rumbled. The murmurs grew louder.

"Unacceptable!" Orik roared, standing from his seat. Nasuada's heart jumped. He was red in the face, his anger utterly apparent. "This man is a murderer and a servant of Galbatorix!"

"As were the Urgralgra," Garzhvog countered calmly. "We all are victims to an evil rule. I will not revoke my decision."

"You cannot do this!" Orik argued. "This decision is not yours alone to make!"

The Kull leader narrowed his dark eyes, his grey lip lifting a bit in a threatening growl. "The Games are open to all races. This should not be under discussion."

"He is right," Nasuada interjected. Orik turned angry eyes her way, but she stood her ground. "The rules that Eragon and the original council for the Games decreed that we shall not discriminate by race or gender. If we want to keep the peace, it is best to follow that which is already in place."

"It's not his _race_ that I object to," the dwarf king growled. "It's his _character_! Why should we allow a murderer to participate in the Games?"

"Because this _murderer_ is a good man!" Nasuada retorted. "And a Dragon Rider. How can we deny him the chance to redeem himself?" Orik opened his mouth to respond, but the Dragon Rider's voice cut him off.

"Thank you for the kind words, Your Majesty," he said graciously. "But you need not defend me." He spoke loudly, addressing the crowd around him as well. "I realize my presence is a wary one for most of you. I cannot take back that which has already happened, but I will never cease trying to atone for my actions." He met Orik's eyes. "I know you will never fully trust me for what I have done to your people. And I do not ask for forgiveness I will never receive. I hope that you will come to understand that I did what I had to at the time. But for now, I hope you can grant me a chance to redeem myself in the eyes of the people." He held the dwarf king's gaze. "_Please_."

Nasuada watched as Orik struggled to stay stubborn under the oppressive gaze of so many eyes upon him. The Queen knew that Murtagh had taken the correct approach to the situation, and she hoped that it would be enough to convince the headstrong dwarf.

"I still do not see why he should be allowed," Orik said gruffly. "He is a Rider. That alone should be considered an unfair advantage."

"Not if he cannot use magic," Nasuada countered. "Dragon Rider or not, he is still a human. Even with his enhanced abilities, he is only as strong as the other Urgal contenders. It is a fair match." Orik attempted to argue the point, but he was cut short again, this time by an entirely different voice.

"Allow him to fight," Razdavit said in a deep, guttural voice. He stood a few paces off from where Murtagh stood, his thick arms crossed over his chest. He wasn't looking at the Rider, but his stance said it all. "He may actually be a challenge."

From the Champion's announcement, a thoughtful whisper trickled through the crowd, swiftly turning into a small amount of restrained excitement. It was clear that the crowd was intrigued by the idea of the Champion of the Urgal Games fighting the rouge Dragon Rider from Galbatorix's days. Already, they could tell it was a fight worth watching. Slowly, the crowd's cheering started to return, chanting to let the Rider participate. Nar Garzhvog's lip twitched into an amused smile.

"You hear them, dwarf," he addressed Orik. "The masses have spoken."

. . . . . . . . . . . .

_Sometimes I wish you were not so hardheaded,_ Thorn chastised, huffing angrily.

"It worked out in the end, did it not?" Murtagh responded, taking a deep drag from the pitcher of ale held in his hand. The dragon and Rider were situated a ways away from the continued festivities of the Urgal Games, partaking in some quality time away from the direct view of worried onlookers. Murtagh wasn't too keen on the idea of being such a center of attention, but even he had to admit that his hunch about the Urgals was dead on. Staying true to character _did_ help him gain a little of their trust. Although, it didn't hurt to have a few people on his side for once. It didn't hurt at all.

_I wish you had learned your lesson about rushing into dangerous things that could end badly,_ Thorn sighed lightly, turning his head towards his Rider in a small act of disappointment. _If it were me going into the pit of danger, you would not have let me go. I am disappointed in myself for letting you._

"We had no choice," Murtagh said softly, giving his dragon a compassionate look. "But you have been right on a few counts for me being an idiot at times. Still working on learning my lessons."

_Clearly_. The dragon chuckled deep within his chest. _I like that Urgal. The Champion._

Murtagh nodded, taking another drink. "He is smart. He noticed me right away, but chose not to say anything. Only after listening to the assessments of others did he make a decision to help me out." The red Rider thought for a long moment. "I better not make the mistake of underestimating him."

_Or anybody else,_ Thorn added. Murtagh let that thought stew in his mind for a long moment. _We have company._ The Rider looked up, taking in the appearance of the young Queen walking up to him. A few guards tailed after her distantly, keeping watch.

"Should you be seen conversing with the traitor, Your Highness?" he asked with a hint of sarcasm.

"If they do not see my stance in the matter by now, I will deem them all fools," she retorted in like. She crossed her arms, appraising the man sitting before her. "That was a foolishly brave thing you did back there. You were lucky it ended as positively as it did."

"I honestly do not think it was luck that guided me," Murtagh responded, staring into his mug.

"Then what did?" Nasuada inquired when he did not elaborate.

"Fortune."

The Queen narrowed her eyes a bit in confusion. "I always thought them to be one and the same."

"Then I must think differently," the Rider said, pausing to take a deep drink. Nasuada waited for him to continue speaking, and let out a frustrated sigh when he did not.

"I hope you are prepared for what is happening tomorrow," she said, changing the subject. "The strength challenge is always the first. Its nothing more than a preliminary set of battles to weed out the true contenders from the ones who just want a moment of fame. The crowd loves it."

"Then I will give them something to cheer about," Murtagh responded. He cast a look at the guards hovering a few yards away, trying not to show their nervousness. "Talking to me is making your guards nervous."

"And I am sure there are a few dignitaries I could be showering with false compliments as well." She sighed. "Orik is not pleased."

"I am sure he is not." Murtagh also sighed. "I wish there was a better way for me to make amends."

"He will come around in time," Nasuada said softly. "He just needs to see the man that I do. That will convince him." Murtagh's lips lifted a bit at her words.

"That will be the day," he murmured, but gave her a lingering look that conveyed his gratitude. "You probably should not stay here for too long. There are many people who would die for your company."

"And as Queen, I do not have to listen to you," she quipped back. Yet, she still turned to make her way back towards the larger collaboration of happily chattering people, pausing before she started. "In good time, it will not seem unusual for us to speak in public. I will allow you this reprieve for now, but I will not be so cooperative in the future. I hope you shall be adequately prepared the next time we have a conversation."

She sent him a secret smile from over her shoulder before disappearing back into the collaboration of people. Murtagh sighed lightly, finishing off his glass of ale before leaning up against the side of his dragon. He listened to Thorn breathe for a few minutes, letting himself relax a bit.

"You were unnaturally quiet," he observed.

_And you were unnaturally distant._

Murtagh considered Thorn's words, finding it hard to deny. Nasuada was right of course. Change was coming soon. It was coming fast. But he was feeling a little too stubborn to willingly accept the truth that night. He sighed. "Fair enough."

. . . . . . . . . . .

_Dobro požalovat': _welcome in Urgal

Urgralgra: the name the Urgals call themselves

Gnomr: the name the Urgals call dwarves

Chelovek: the name the Urgals call humans


	15. Chapter 15

_Pömnuria Hjarta er medh Ono_

**A/N:** Thanks so much for the support! Once again, I apologize for the delay. The semester is finally wrapping up, and I'm suddenly really busy. In the down time, I'll try to write as much as possible, so do not fear! If all goes well, I'm aiming to finish this story sometime this summer, or early fall. So that's something to look forward to! As for this chapter, this is probably one of my first real attempts at a fight scene. I don't want to just skip it like I usually do, since _Inheritance_ is an action-packed story. BUT, I must warn you all. I don't write action well. So, I apologize in advance.

If anybody's interested, I just joined the tumblr community, so check out my blog at kaytoko /dot/ tumblr /dot/ com!

**Disclaimer:**Action…? D: Not Mine.

ENJOY!

. . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Murtagh was not nervous. At least, that's what he told himself. As he strapped the leather guards onto his forearms, tightening the straps, he attempted to ignore the curl of fear that settled uncomfortably within his stomach, making his fingers shake. It wasn't the battle that worried him, but the people observing him. He felt more scrutinized than normal, even as he dressed and prepared for the first challenge.

He was dressed lightly, if just to give himself more agility during battle. It had been a while since he had directly faced off against capable opponents, and a part of him wondered if his lack of practice was going to detriment him in the very first round. Some Dragon Rider he'd be if he was defeated in the very first challenge. He stood from his spot, pulling down at his leather armor a bit, eyeing a form of a young man, probably fourteen years old, warily approaching him. The Games helper kept his distance, nervously eyeing the giant red dragon languidly lounging behind the Rider. Thorn kept his eyes shut, feigning sleep to calm the boy a bit.

"S-sir," the boy said loudly, stopping several feet away. "The council would like to r-remind you that all weapons must be shielded to prevent a-accidental in-injury."

Murtagh nodded, aware of the restrictions. Pulling Zar'roc's sheath out from Thorn's saddlebags, the Rider held the sword out for the boy to take. The boy hesitated, unsure what the Rider was intending.

"I am assuming that the council would rather do the shield magic themselves, if just to be sure that I am not up to anything," the Rider explained. He wasn't sure if that was the case, but if his knowledge of the nature of man was anything to go by, they wouldn't rightly trust him to abide by the rules to the tee. He didn't necessarily like that they didn't trust him, but he understood why. Either way, it was more beneficial for them to shield his weapons themselves. It helped him save face from having to explain why he couldn't do it himself.

The boy nodded, nervously taking Zar'roc from the Rider's hands. He looked a little awe-struck to be holding the infamous red sword, his light brown eyes wide with wonder. Murtagh let a small lift of his lips at his reaction before lifting his eyes to take note of the tall man dressed in magician robes watching them from a cautious distance, his jaw set distrustfully. The Rider gently reminded the boy to do his job, watching as he ran off to give the sword to the tall magician.

_I am surprised that you are willingly allowing them to touch your sword._ Thorn cracked open a ruby eye. _I recall a time where you would much rather die than allow strangers to handle your property._

"I still do not feel comfortable," Murtagh responded. "But in times of caution, cooperation outweighs pride." He watched the magician run his fingers along the blade of Zar'roc, placing the shield along the edge of the weapon. "There is nothing we can do outside of their sight. For now, it is better to avoid stepping in their toes."

The magician shot the Rider and dragon a wary look before returning the red blade to its sheath, placing it in the hands of the boy before him. The boy ran back, Zar'roc clutched in his arms. Murtagh thanked the boy when the sword was handed back to its rightful owner. He hooked it onto his belt, pulling the weapon out with one smooth motion. He tested the familiar weight in his hand, carefully inspecting the invisible barrier along the blade. Satisfied with the magic work, he began running through sword forms that he recalled without much thought. After a few swipes of the blade, he let a small smirk pull at his lips. The boy was still watching.

"Do you know swordplay?" he asked him, continuing his warm-up routine. The boy jumped in surprise at being addressed, quickly shaking his head in response.

"My father taught me a few things, but 'm no good at it," he admitted uncomfortably.

"Did you enjoy it?" the Rider asked.

"Very much so, sir."

"There is no need for formalities," Murtagh said, pausing in his practice to look over at the boy. A small flush rose on the boy's cheeks as he struggled to formulate an appropriate apology. Murtagh ignored it. "What is your name?"

"Devon."

"Devon," Murtagh repeated carefully. He eyed the boy for a short moment, an uncomfortable thought lingering in the back of his mind. It manifested itself as a quiet, unsure question. "Do I frighten you, Devon?"

The boy hesitated, his face looking a little stricken by the inquiry. "N-no, si-… No."

Murtagh recognized the nervous twitter to the boy's voice. He turned his eyes away, a curl of disappointment souring his stomach. "It is probably best you return to your duties. Thank you for conversing with me."

Knowing a dismissal when he heard one, Devon uttered a quick parting response and ducked into a last-minute bow before running off. Murtagh sighed lightly, running gloved fingers through his hair.

_I know what you are thinking,_ Thorn said quietly. _But you are wrong. _

"I do not know what you are talking about," Murtagh said grumpily, settling back down into proper stance to resume his warm-ups. He ran through a few motions, his strikes sharper and more unfocused than the ones he did earlier.

_Yes you do, _Thorn disagreed. _He was not scared of you, Murtagh._

The Rider ignored his dragon's words, striking furiously at an invisible opponent. Thorn let out an annoyed breath through his nose, lifting his head to level a glare at his Rider.

_I do not appreciate being ignored._

Murtagh stopped his routine, lowering his sword to give Thorn his undivided attention. "I was not intending to." Thorn narrowed his eyes, unconvinced. The Rider sighed, defeated. "Forgive me, brother. My nerves are getting the better of me today."

_On a normal day, I would pretend to believe that._

Murtagh frowned. "Then what do you want me to say?"

_I want you to realize that you are not as alone as you seem to think. _Thorn stated. _You are so desperate for acceptance among the Empire that you ignore what good things have already come your way. I have been patient, but it is past time for you to see what lies in front of your face. _

Murtagh thought on his dragon's words, feeling a little confused. He blinked slowly in realization of Thorn's meaning. "The Urgals."

_Right. _Thorn confirmed. _We were once enemies but they hold no lingering resentment towards us like the dwarves do. It is better to focus on what is already set in our favor than to focus on the uphill battle we have yet to face. The people of Alagaësia will come to see our side in time. For now, just do what we came here to do._

Murtagh sighed lightly, knowing his dragon was right. "Once again, you see the world clearer than I do." He let a small smile lift his lips. "Thank you, Thorn."

_Humans never fail to be ignorantly blind to their surroundings_, the dragon commented lightheartedly. _You are welcome, __bróðir__. _

Murtagh reached out to affectionately press his hand under the dragon's jaw, scratching the scales there until Thorn hummed lightly in appreciation. From across the field that the contestants were warming up at, a loud guttural horn call sounded three long trumpets indicating the start of the first round of the Games. From a distance, Murtagh noted a few contestants heading for the huge arena set up nearby, the roar of the crowd reaching his ears. The knowledge of so many people watching him fight was starting to make him nervous again.

From what he was told earlier that day, there were a total of close to two hundred and seventy contenders, and by the end of the battles, only thirty would remain. Luckily for him, it wasn't a matter of nearly three hundred people fighting each other in a bloody brawl, and trying to escape out at the top. There were quite a few battles that day, each broken up into groups of eight. The arena was large enough to accommodate three royale battles at the same time, so that the action was never dull. Murtagh was scheduled to fight in the third round of the day.

The curl of fear that he felt earlier that day was starting to unsettle his stomach again as he thought about the oncoming fight. He wasn't naïve enough to believe that he would be fighting his opponents one on one. After years of fighting on his own, Murtagh knew that the weaker opponents would gang together to take down their biggest threat. They may not be aware just how strong Murtagh truly was, but he wasn't going to delude himself into thinking that they wouldn't attack him that way. Stepping away from his dragon, he steeled himself back into the mindset needed for fighting multiple opponents at one time. He was really going to need the practice.

. . . . . . . . . . . . .

"Well, shite. The _Dragon Rider_ is in our group. There goes any chance of us getting past the first round."

"The bloke probably thinks not a one of us is worth his time. Look at 'im. Actin' like he's so high and mighty." He spat.

Murtagh clenched the hands he had folded against his chest, trying to ignore the words coming from behind him. They weren't trying to quiet their voices by any means. They _wanted_ him to hear.

The eight warriors were all congregated into one of the tunnels leading into the arena. Heavy wood doors prevented them from seeing the battles themselves, so the eight warriors stood in relative uncomfortable silence as the battles before them finished up. Through the heavy doors, Murtagh could hear the names of the contestants moving on, and the cheers from the crowd as each name was announced. His group was prepped and ready to go out and fight, but for now, they were waiting.

In the down time, the Rider took a moment to size up the competition. There were three Urgals, one of which a Kull, who all stood near the back of the tunnel. The two regular Urgals conversed lowly in their native language while the Kull stood silently to the side, his arms crossed and his eyes closed. A single dwarf leaned against the wall across from him, not hiding the disgusted looks that he shot Murtagh's way. Finally, the rest of the group was made up of humans, one silently standing away, talking himself into the right mindset, and two bigger, burlier men who spoke loudly, unafraid to hide their opinions.

To pass the time, the Rider focused on making a game plan. The rules of the battle were simple: knock out your opponents before they knock you out. He decided early on to avoid fighting the dwarf, if possible. Even if he won fairly, the idea of him targeting the shorter man would not go over well with anybody in his clan, and Murtagh didn't really want to open that particular Pandora's box. The Kull seemed the most dangerous, and despite his better judgment telling him to avoid fighting him as well, he knew he would have to eventually. He decided to attempt to face him first before his energy exhausted. He was sure the pair of burly men were going to attack him together, and most likely when he was busy with a different opponent. He'd need to stay sharp with their swords aimed at his back. As for the pair of Urgals, he figured they'd want to knock horns as soon as possible. Something within their blood had them wanting to fight each other before fighting "weaker" opponents. Either way, he was fine with them knocking each other out. The final human was a thin boy who looked nervous. He looked weak and easy to knock out, but Murtagh wasn't about to take his chances. He was well aware of how easily looks could deceive.

It didn't take much more time until the heavy wood doors barring them from the field were pulled open. He blinked a few times in the bright sunlight before setting his shoulders and heading for the fenced in dirt field used for their battle. From the vantage point he stood at, the roar of the crowd was thunderous. Set up in raised seating around the arena, the crowd cheered from every spot. The turnout was rather intimidating. On a shaded platform at the northern side of the arena, Murtagh spotted Nasuada regally perched on the edge of her chair, soft brown eyes trained on him. It warmed his heart to think that she would find him so quickly.

The eight warriors took up their positions as the other groups entered the arena. Murtagh slid Zar'roc out of its sheath, moving the sword between his fingers a few times to settle with the weight. He squeezed the hilt, calming himself as the other warriors took up similar positions. There was a drawn out moment where they just stared at each other, the tension of the moment thickening the air between them. Murtagh's eyes pinned onto his first target, focusing as the guttural Urgal horn sounded from above them.

He was off like a shot, letting his legs carry him quickly across the field towards the Kull. He noted that the larger Urgal was barehanded, but he wasn't going to let that give him false hope. The Kull's beady eyes were focused on him, and his stance prepared for the oncoming attack. Murtagh gripped his hilt, readying for an attack when a flash of moment had him dodging to the side. A laugh filled the air as he skidded against the ground for a short moment. Quickly rising to his feet, he stared at the pair of humans that were speaking about him earlier.

"What's wrong little Rider?" the burlier one taunted. "Too sure of yourself to think of us as a threat?" He hefted his medium-sized hammer. He eyed the weapon cautiously. Even with dampening wards, it would still pack quite the punch. He was glad he managed to avoid the first swing. He cast a quick look towards the Kull he was intending to fight, looking back at the humans when he realized the Urgal was busy with the remaining human contender.

The burly one stood with his shoulders cocked in an arrogant stance. He could tell that the man meant to make it seem like he was a force to be reckoned with, but as Murtagh took in his possible weaknesses, the Rider knew he wasn't going to be a problem. The man to his right was thinner, lankier, and had a sword gripped in his hands, longer and thicker than Zar'roc's blade. He stood in a more reserved fashion, his knees bent and his shoulders loose. He'd be the more challenging of the two. The burly one took a few steps forward and Murtagh dropped into an agile, defensive stance.

"What, not going to say anything?" the man taunted. Murtagh remained silent. The man grinned. "Then why don't I pull a sound from your lips!" He hefted his hammer, before charging towards the Rider. Murtagh took note of the way he ran and the openings for his chest and sides that the man clearly did not bother to cover. He waited until the man was almost on top of him, moving out of the path of the hammer before whipping out Zar'roc with lightning speed. The blade connected dully against the man's hip bone, eliciting a surprised grunt from his lips. He stumbled away, favoring his right side a bit. His grin was gone.

Murtagh waited patiently for his next move, but shifted his vision when the other man made a dart for the Rider's open side. He ducked under the swinging blade, sweeping his foot out to trip the man on the offensive. In a moment of alertness, the man stumbled out of the way, attempting to regain his footing as Murtagh stood again.

"Cocky bastard," the burly man spat. He nodded toward his cohort, and both of them made a charge at the Rider. Murtagh attempted to remain calm, analyzing the actions and footing of both of them. They swung their weapons at differing intervals, and as the Rider dodged their attacks, he realized that they had no real strategy. They weren't working together. They were just swinging their weapons at the same time, hoping to overwhelm him. He calmed a bit with the knowledge that they completely underestimated him. He dropped and rolled out of the way when the sword and hammer both swung for his shoulders, colliding in the air with a unnerving ricochet. The sword fell from the thinner man's fingers as he attempted to shake off the rebound, and the burly man gripped the handle of his hammer, gritting his teeth in response. The Rider didn't waste his opportunity, and when the thinner man reached down to pick up his sword, he darted behind him to smash his hilt against the back of the man's neck. The thinner man fell heavily to the ground, unconscious.

The burly man took a few steps back in retreat, but Murtagh wasn't finished. He closed the space between them in three steps, bringing the blunted blade of Zar'roc down upon the man's dominate shoulder. The burly man gasped in pain, dropping his hammer. He stumbled back a few paces, glaring daggers at the Rider standing calmly before him.

"You think you know so much," he spat. "The world is just a plaything for your kind. I don't know who you think you're fooling, but nobody will believe that you're a good guy. Not after the things that you did." He grinned. "Once a murderer, always a murderer, Murtagh Morzansson."

Murtagh attempted to ignore the scathing comment towards him, but the words lingered in his mind, heating his blood. A part of him wanted to mercilessly knock this man into unconsciousness, but the eyes of the crowd baring down upon their exchange had him hesitating to do so. _Put it aside,_ he reminded himself. _Do only what you have to._

He took a few calming breaths, tightening the grip upon his sword. The burly man noticed his actions.

"Does that get under your skin? Knowing that I am right?" he taunted. The Rider gave him a scowl, raising his sword.

"You will never understand."

He let the blade fall upon the man's neck, knocking him out cold. Turning away from the man on the ground, Murtagh surveyed his remaining opponents. As he expected, the two Urgals took on one another as soon as the horn sounded, and one laid unconscious on the ground. He expected to see the remaining Urgal locking horns with the Kull, but to his utter surprise, the Kull was defeated as well. He watched as the dwarf in the group was knocked out by none other than the thin boy he knew better than to underestimate. He wasn't sure if the boy was the one who took out the Kull, or the Urgal that advanced on him now. Either way, he was going to plan his next moves carefully.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Nasuada was tense. The first two rounds of fighting for the day were just as she expected, but she couldn't predict the amount of anxiety she was feeling just watching Murtagh cross swords in the arena below her. Casting a sidelong glance at the other dignitaries watching the fight along side her, the Queen released the tense grip her hands had on the arms of her chair, casually folding them within her lap. She had forgotten how hard it was to act like she didn't care about who truly won or not. She was the Queen, and she was always reminded not to play favorites.

At the beginning of the fight, she had attempted to act like she was equally interested in all the fights that were in progress, but as the two men started attacking the Dragon Rider as a team, her eyes were glued. Murtagh didn't act like they were much of a problem, to her relief, but as he squared up against the Urgal charging his way, she started to feel uneasy. For majority of the fight against the two humans, his back was to the other fights in his arena. She was sure he hadn't seen the surprising skill of the other remaining human as he took down the Kull with little difficulty. Her nerves were starting to spike again as the final three contenders began to face off.

"You are sure he cannot use magic," Orik was saying again to the older magician seated to his left. The dwarf king was red in the face- the dwarves had yet to have a contender see it through to the next round- and angrily observing the Rider's actions. From what she had heard about the night before, the dwarves had given him much grief for submitting to the Game council's decision. He had arrived that morning with his right hand man in tow, a tired scowl etched onto his face. She gave consideration to the thought of apologizing for outing him so badly the day before. She hadn't meant to figuratively put his head on the chopping block, but she had an agenda to keep.

Letting her thoughts fall away for the meantime, she imperceptibly sat forward in her chair, watching as Murtagh fluidly dodged the bare-handed jabs the Urgal took, aiming for his chest. She tried not to be too nervous as she watched the smaller human sneak around the side of the Urgal, deadly sword raised. He waited for an opportunity to lunge at the Rider himself, Murtagh barely having enough time to parry the blow with his own red sword before recovering from his lost balance as quickly as possible. She tried not to bite her lip as the Urgal took a swing for the thin boy, who merely danced out of his reach.

"Yevgen is outclassed," Nar Garzhvog commented from her right side. She glanced up at him, realizing that the Kull leader was also watching Murtagh's fight with apt attention. His thick arms were crossed over his broad chest and expression was one of interest. "Rider knows he is a target, and that makes him deadly. Yevgen will not last."

True to his word, the Urgal's inattention to the third contestant of their fight was his down fall. As he viciously struck out at the Dragon Rider, the thin boy managed to get behind him and trip the Urgal as he strode. Yevgen fell with a heavy thump, and attempted to get back on his feet, but he wasn't fast enough. The boy jumped upon his back, swiftly knocking the Urgal out with a few well-placed blows to the back of the head. There was a muted cheer that rose from the voices of the crowd as the thin boy causally stepped away from the Urgal and began to circle the Dragon Rider.

Nasuada squeezed her hands together as the two swordsmen began to lock blows. It was clear that Murtagh had the power advantage, but the boy was extremely agile and kept darting around, attempting to confuse the Rider. It seemed as though the thinner boy had the upper hand in the battle, and with every step Murtagh took back, Nasuada's nerves doubled. As the battle continued, the tide began to change. Murtagh's steps became faster, his blows more aggressive. He matched every move the thinner boy attempted to make, beating him at his own strategy. Soon, it was the thin boy who was on the defensive, and a look of nervous terror alighted on his young face. Eventually, he stumbled over his own feet, falling unceremoniously to the ground. Murtagh prepared to deliver the final blow, but the boy threw his sword away, putting his hands up in surrender. The Rider relaxed his stance, letting his sword fall to his side. The thinner boy fell back in relief.

Nasuada struggled to keep the delighted smile off her face as Game officials flooded their arena. Murtagh replaced Zar'roc to the sheath on his belt, turning to look at the spot where Nasuada sat. His eyes were glowing in triumph. A nervous flutter jumped at her heart from the look upon his face. A wide smile spread across his face as the crowd began to cheer. The Queen relaxed a bit, letting her back fall against the wood of her chair.

"He is formidable," Nar Garzhvog said, catching her eyes. "He will do well."

"I believe so," she said quietly. She was pleased to hear that Murtagh was making an impression on the Kull leader, but she couldn't shake the feeling that his words had a double meaning to them.

. . . . . . . . . . . . .

The day's events ended smoothly with a transition into yet another night filled with joyful cheer and celebration. The thirty winners of the day's game were treated to a rich feast, courtesy of the Game producers. Murtagh stuck around long enough to fill his plate a few times, but even though Nasuada had attended the event as well, he slipped out early, seeking out his dragon. The audience people were also celebrating the wins of the day, flooding the streets with songs, dancing and joyful chatter. He stuck to the pathways behind the buildings hoping to avoid any distrustful looks.

After a while of walking, the Rider realized that he was being followed. He cast a secretive glance over his shoulder, relaxing a bit when he realized it was just a pair of women. He paused in his stride, facing them fully.

"May I help you?" he asked softly, hoping not to scare them. They seemed a little nervous, speaking to each other quietly before one timidly stepped forward.

"That was a good thing you did today," she said with a bit of a drawl. "Lettin' that man go, I mean."

"We jus' wanted to let you know," the second one said. "That it was… good. Very kind."

Murtagh shifted a bit, feeling rather touched by their words. "Thank you…"

"Are you busy?" the second one spoke up again. She gestured towards the area where the festival was happening. "You should come."

Murtagh hesitated. "I-"

"We know you are nervous," the first one said quickly. "But your actions today did more than just secure your win."

"Please come," the second one said.

_Go,_ Thorn's voice said softly in his head. _This is the opportunity you have been waiting for, __bróðir._

With his dragon's encouragement, Murtagh finally nodded his head. The women smiled widely at him, gesturing for him to follow after them. They led him toward the sounds of the festivities, interweaving him into the throngs of people. He avoided the gaze of the people around him, focusing on his boots as they entered the thick of the festival. He stood awkwardly in the center of the people, his hands shaking imperceptibly. The two women waved over a few of their friends who had nervous, but eager looks upon their faces. A couple men, another woman. They spoke to him, but he could barely hear them. They smiled at him, they were saying something about how amazing his battle was, and his actions. They kept talking about how surprising his actions were at the end. But it was a good thing. A very good thing. More people approached them. Spoke to them. He started to feel dizzy, like too much was happening at once when a single voice cut through the haze.

"Murtagh!"

The Rider turned over his shoulder to see a little boy waving furiously from the top of a man's shoulders. Murtagh started a bit at the sight of the little boy he had walked home during his time in Ilirea. Little Eragon. Eri. The boy and his parents made their way through the crowd, stopping just before the Dragon Rider. Eri bounced on his father's shoulders.

"You should have told me you were a Dragon Rider!" he exclaimed. "You were so cool today! I cheered for you as loud as I could!"

The boy's mother smiled when Murtagh met her eyes. "It is good to see you again, Shur'tugal," she said respectfully.

"You as well…" he said softly, feeling a little more than floored to see the blacksmith's family.

"We apologize for not introducing ourselves earlier," the burly blacksmith said. He held out a calloused hand for the Rider to take. "The name's Brant. This here's my wife, Emile. Thank you for bringing our son home safely."

"It was my honor," Murtagh responded.

Emile smiled. "We are aware of your sensitive situation with earning the people's trust. At every opportunity that we have had, we have expressed your kindness so that people will come to understand that you have good intentions. Although, you seem to be making good on that yourself."

Murtagh frowned a bit. "I was not intending to prove my kindness through my actions today."

"That just makes it all the more sincere," Brant said, clapping an encouraging hand upon the Rider's shoulder. "Keep it up. Actions speak louder than any whisper of the spoken word."

"Do not worry, Argetlam," one of the women next to him said. "We will vouch for you!"

Murtagh ducked his head a bit, trying to hide the burning sensation that was forming behind his eyes. He swallowed over the thick knot in his throat, looking back up to meet Brant and Emile's eyes.

"You have been very kind to me. I am indebted to your trust," he said sincerely.

"Nonsense," Emile said. "It is only what you deserve." He stared at her, the emotion in his chest nearly too much for him to handle. She smiled understandingly at his silence.

"Murtagh! Murtagh!" Eri cried from the top of Brant's shoulders, effectively breaking the emotional moment. "Can I see your dragon?"

Murtagh smiled softly, feeling more uplifted than he was sure he ever felt in his life. "Of course."


	16. Chapter 16

_Pömnuria Hjarta er medh Ono_

**A/N:** Hello again, my friends! Well, looks like I need to give a huge apology. I wanted to update this story much earlier, but for nearly two months, I struggled to get anywhere past the first paragraph. I sorta wandered into other fandoms in my meantime, so I have quite a few other stories up for those of you interested in the Avengers. That aside, I never intended to abandon this story. I'm just struggling through one of the worst writers blocks ever. So, I'm so sorry if this doesn't live up to earlier chapters. I'll work my way through it eventually. In the meantime, thank you all for the support you've given, and never fear. I fully intend to finish this story, so just keep doing what you've been doing. You guys are the best fans ever!

In apology, have a super long chapter! Written all in one night!

**Disclaimer:** If it really was mine, writing this fanfic would be silly. I could just publish it as canon. But alas.

ENJOY!

. . . . . . . . . . . . . .

The air was still crisp from the night before, but the sun steadily rose in the sky, warming the grounds and drying the dew glittering across the lands. Already, spectators dotted the along the edge of Lake Isenstar, chatting pleasantly as they waited for the beginning of the second game. All thirty contestants lined up at the north edge of the lake, the trees of Du Weldenvarden standing protectively at their backsides while they stretched their limbs and prepared for their next challenge. There was a palpable string of nervousness traveling through the contestants that day. The officials announced that morning that there would be a change in the expected winning pool- that only ten would be advancing to the final race of the games- and many of the qualifying warriors were feeling the sour feeling of doubt. Swimming was not a strong attribute for many warriors, and that included Murtagh.

But, unlike the rest of them, the red Rider wasn't worried. Some would call it arrogance, but he liked to think of it as experience. He was not stranger to swimming long distances, but even he had to admit that he had been out of practice for quite a long time. He opted to calmly recall the techniques he learned from his experience and carefully stretch the muscles he knew would be straining the most. The rest of the time, he spent calming his mind. Unnecessary distractions would just hinder his performance, and he needed to focus on the situation at hand this time around. Speed and endurance. That was all he needed.

Dressed in nothing more than a thin tunic and loose-fitting cut-off trousers, Murtagh felt the nip of the cool morning against his exposed skin. The water would be colder, but he was not the only one wearing hardly anything. Clothes dragged in water and made swimming harder, but he didn't feel comfortable swimming in just underclothes, or completely in the nude as some of the Urgals opted. He kept his eyes closed for the most part to avoid looking at such a disturbing sight.

It was closer to the start of the challenge when Thorn contacted him for the first time since they parted ways that morning. _Nasuada has arrived at her seat,_ the dragon announced. _People are becoming anxious for the start of the challenge. Are you prepared?_

_As prepared as I shall ever be,_ Murtagh responded. _Where are you?_ A quick blue-tinted image of the lake from high in the sky flashed through the Rider's mind. He nodded in understanding. _Good. Keep an eye out up there. I realize this precaution may be futile, but I do not like being so far away from her without a way to reach her if I must._

_You need not inform me of your motives,_ Thorn joked. _Your thoughts have been slipping lately. I know what you would much rather be doing right now._

Murtagh suppressed the flush of embarrassment that threatened to crawl across his skin. _Is this really the time to be teasing me about that?_

The dragon merely chuckled and distanced himself back into his task as the announcer for the games began his prelude.

"Welcome, to the second challenge in the Urgal Games!" the Urgal Milek called from a wooden-built platform. The growing crowd cheered, drawing straggling spectators closer to the edge of the lake. Murtagh rose from his seat and pulled off his thin shirt to join the contestants along the starting edge of the lake. He ignored the chill of excitement as he caught a few "_Shur'tugal_!" calls amongst the mass cheering, but he couldn't resist the small smile that pulled at his lips. "Prepare yourselves, warriors! The first ten to reach the opposite shores of Lake Isenstar shall continue on in this test of valor! Good luck to all, and may the game begin!" A sharp boom that sounded like a small explosion went off signaling the start of the race. Taking a deep breath, Murtagh shot off with the other contestants into the water.

As he anticipated, the water was much colder than he would have preferred, and he heard a few gasps of surprise from some of his opponents. He dunked his head and pushed himself through the water, acclimating his muscles to the cool temperature before rising again for air. He took deep, calming breaths as he fell into a quick, but even pace, taking note of those who chose to exert themselves at the start of the challenge and those who paced themselves like he did. After surveying the competition and picking out the most likely to give him a run for his money, he focused, allowing the world around him to fade out. He felt every push of his arms, every strong kick of his legs, and he began to solely focus on his breathing.

In. Out.

In. Out.

Kick legs. Push arms.

In. Out.

In. Out.

_Halfway there, Murtagh._

Murtagh blinked, coming out of his trance at the sound of his dragon's voice. He cringed slightly, feeling the strain in his muscles for the first time. The cast of sunlight came from a different part of the sky, and his lungs burned slightly from the exertion. He grit his teeth, ignoring the distractions of his body, trying to focus on the task at hand again, but a lingering question kept him from automatically continuing his challenge.

_How is she?_ he asked.

_Bored,_ Thorn responded. _The officials stand is in a rather unsatisfactory spot for viewing the competition. I have the best seat, by far. _

Murtagh grunted an agreement. _How does the competition look?_ he inquired.

_You are the fourth in. There is an Urgal following you who may overtake you in good time, but if you keep your pace then you shall finish the challenge with time to spare, _Thorn informed him.

_Good,_ Murtagh responded, and allowed Thorn's mind to pull away as he fell back into his pattern of listening to his breathing. It was slightly more challenging to let the world fade away a second time, but in good time, Murtagh only felt the push and pull of the water and the sound of his own breath. The second time Thorn interrupted his focus, it was sharper.

_MURTAGH! _The shout of his name came with an urgent roar from above his head, startling the Rider out of his reverie. His head fell under the water, the liquid rushing into his mouth unexpectedly. He pushed himself back above the water, sputtering and coughing shortly. A blur of images rushed through his mind, but he was unable to decipher them quickly enough to understand what Thorn was trying to tell him.

_What's wrong?_ he asked sharply.

Thorn roared again. _Nasuada is in danger!_

Something in the Rider's mind shut down. A cold chill raced down his spine. Before he realized what he was doing, he began swimming again, this time for the closest shoreline. Spectators booed and shouted, confused by his sudden dismissal of the challenge, but he pushed his way through them, water dripping down his body as he ran barefoot past the collaboration of people. Thorn swooped down from the sky close enough to the ground for Murtagh to launch himself onto his dragon's back before he gave powerful flaps of his wings to bring himself higher in the air.

The wind whipped angrily at his hair, and his wet skin made it difficult for him to hold onto Thorn's neck spike. The leather of the saddle bit into his tender skin as he struggled to reach for the saddle bags to grab the glittering sheath of Zar'roc before Gil'ead rose up quickly beneath them. Thorn released a third, threatening roar as they came down upon an open area of grass, sending a few people scrambling to get away from the clearly agitated dragon. Murtagh dropped from his dragon's back, quickly drawing Zar'roc and discarding the sheath as he scanned the area with a sharp eye.

Nasuada was still near her seat upon the official's platform, standing stiffly. Her brown eyes were wide, and her head jutted up at an unnatural direction. She was clearly uncomfortable and having trouble breathing, but she could not move. Her muscles strained against invisible restraints, pinning her arms to her sides. The other officials stood warily at the side, Orik gripping his axe with unwanted reluctance and Nar Garzhvog standing silently to the side, beady black eyes trained upon a man just behind Nasuada. He was relatively short with a hunch in his shoulder from what Murtagh recognized to be an old sword wound that healed incorrectly. His face was shrouded in a cloak, but his gnarled, misshapen hands held out in front of him as he weaved invisible magic around the Queen. Nasuada gave a small, choked sound. Fury like anything he had ever felt before rushed through Murtagh's veins like fire. He started forward through the crowd dead set to wring this man's neck.

The people around the official's stand were frightened. They made small noises of fear and murmured between themselves, but what Murtagh noticed was that they feared for their Queen. As the people moved aside to let him through, he heard short lines of encouragement and relief that truly surprised him.

"The Dragon Rider is here!"

"He will save her!"

"Oh,_ Shur'tugal_, save our Queen!"

"Dragon Rider," the gnarled man snarled as he noticed Murtagh's presence. "Stay where you are or I will not hesitate to snap her neck!"

Murtagh stopped a few steps away from the stage, his eyes angrily pinning the man in his spot. If the man was confident before, he was definitely nervous now. He was not in the safest position, and regardless of how this event ended, the man would not escape unpunished. Surrounded by capable warriors who had survived the trials of the war, Murtagh wondered why any assassin aiming for the Queen's life would show himself so openly where he could easily be overpowered. He narrowed his eyes.

_Be on the lookout. Something is up,_ he told Thorn. The dragon consented while Murtagh began to study the situation. It wouldn't be long until an opening would present itself, and he would be there to meet it.

"I ask you again, _Nar Garzhvog_," the man said sharply, turning to look at the Kull leader again. "Tell me the location of the Pure Spring, or feel the wrath of the people for not saving their Queen."

Murtagh unintentionally jerked at the name. _The Pure Spring?_ A million questions ran through his mind. _How does he know about that?_

Garzhvog didn't react. Nothing showed upon his face aside from a solid look of disapproval. He was surprisingly calm when he spoke. "You are weak to hide behind a woman."

The man bristled at the blatant insult. "What do you know?" he shouted, spittle flying from his mouth. "Tell me what I want to know or I swear I shall kill her!" He squeezed his hands in fury, enticing a squeak out of Nasuada. Murtagh jerked forward in his distraction, leaping onto the stage to point the blade of Zar'roc against the man's throat. He reacted in shock, stumbling back from the Dragon Rider's sword. He unintentionally constricted the restraints upon the Queen, and Murtagh's sword whipped to his neck again with deadly speed. The man breathed panicked breaths, wide grey eyes reaching up to meet the Dragon Rider's. From this vantage point, Murtagh could see a nasty pair of scars crossing the magician's face. Remnants of the past war.

"Let her go," the Rider said darkly. "Or feel my blade."

The man swallowed nervously, his adam's apple bobbing against the sharp edge of the sword. Sweat trickled down his face and his hands twitched for a moment before relaxing, releasing the magic constraining Nasuada. The Queen gasped sharply, finally able to breathe, and collapsed to the stage floor, coughing harshly. Murtagh's eyes darted to her, but returned to the scarred man as some of Nasuada's retainers rushing up to help her. She took a few ragged breaths before rising to her feet again, her stubborn streak pushing her to act more okay than she actually felt. Her act was enough to entice a nervous cheer from the crowd.

A soft sob took Murtagh's attention again, the scarred man now shaking in fear. His face was scrunched up as he cried, making him look even more unpleasant. For a moment, Murtagh felt pity for this unfortunate man. "Please, _Argetlam_," he begged. "Spare me. It was not my idea. I was _forced_-" A choked, gargle came from the man's lips, cutting his words short. Murtagh stepped back in surprise, a crossbow shaft protruding from the man's chest. A few screams and gasps rose from the crowd as Murtagh pulled his sword away, the man whispering wordless sounds, a small pool of blood dripping from his lips as he fell sightlessly to the ground. For a long moment, Murtagh couldn't look away from the mottled man. Something about him struck an uncomfortable note inside Murtagh's chest. There were secrets behind those silenced lips that said more now that they were unspoken.

"My lady, _please_."

Murtagh's head snapped away to take in Nasuada. She still stood firmly, but there was a wild look in her eye, and the shaking of her hands did not escape his view. Her retainers desperately tried to get her to respond to them, but she stared silently at the man on the ground, her expression unreadable. Murtagh took a few steps toward her, his grip on his sword slackening. He gently reached a calloused hand up to her cheek, pulling her eyes away from the dead magician.

"Nasuada," he breathed.

Her wide brown eyes slowly moved up to meet his gaze, searching for an answer within his eyes. They stared at each other for a long moment before she finally closed hers, lifting her own hand to touch his. Her fingers still trembled upon his hand. He finally managed to pull his eyes away from her, relieved to see that she was still whole and met the wide-eyed look of one of her retainers.

"Get her to a healer, but keep it discreet," he told the young woman. She looked briefly between the Rider and her Queen, making conclusions he was too distracted to prevent and nodded shortly, placing her hands gently upon her Queen's arm. Nasuada's mind was far somewhere else, but allowed the girl to lead her away, casting one last look at the Rider as she went.

The world seemed to speed up after that. The officials easily took charge of the situation and redirected it back towards the now close-to-finished challenge, announcing who was currently in the lead. But, the Games were the last thing on Murtagh's mind. Distantly he realized that his actions would more than likely disqualify him from continuing on in the challenge, let alone fight the champion in the final battle and allow him to speak to him as he wished, but something told him that the sequence with the would-be assassin held more importance that he originally thought. He picked up Zar'roc's sheath, and easily slipped away.

Thorn took to the skies again as Murtagh searched for the building they took Nasuada to. It wasn't difficult to find with the number of stationed guards suddenly on patrol. He worried that he wouldn't be allowed inside, but when he attempted to enter, the guard merely stepped aside. He must have caught the Rider's questioning glance for he gave an unexpected reason.

"'m sure she wants to see you," he said gruffly. He gave Murtagh a quick once-over before glancing away. "Although, you shou'd probably put on a shirt first."

The Rider's lip quirked up at the man's advice and he gave a small chuckle. "Advice well received. Thank you."

The guard mumbled something Murtagh couldn't hear, but he distinctly picked up the word "_Shur'tugal_" which gave him a bit of a start he had to struggle to hide. The townsfolk were one thing. But the _guards_? He decided to put that discovery to the side and walked into the inn, pulling aside one of the maids to ask her for a shirt. He tried to pretend that he didn't see the way her face flushed red at his question.

In good time, he found himself waiting outside the room Nasuada was in with the healer. He stood opposite of the guards stationed outside her room, arms crossed and Zar'roc held loosely in his hand. The guards were nervous at first, but seemed to relax as the time went by. Murtagh took that as a good sign and allowed himself to close his eyes and rehash the situation with Thorn. The dragon was just as wary about the proclamation of the Pure Spring as he was, and he agreed with his Rider on the guess that Nar Garzhvog definitely knew what the man was talking about. They had just agreed to look more into that in their downtime when an unwanted confrontation startled Murtagh out of his reverie.

"I do not know who you think you are fooling, _Rider_," Orik spat, poking Murtagh roughly in the side with the tip of his axe. He reacted in surprise, stepping away from the offensive object. He noted that both guards standing across from them straightened up warily at the words of the Dwarf king. "But if you think that abandoning your challenge to save the Queen will give you the trust of the kingdom again, you are sourly mistaken."

Murtagh stared down at him, gripping the sheath of his sword. "I do not presume that I know what the kingdom wants to see from me. I only do what I think to be right."

"What lies you speak!" Orik barked in distaste. "For years you refused to fight for what was right! How dare you speak as though you know what is best for Alagaësia!"

Murtagh resisted reacting to the direct insult. He knew that explaining how much he hated Galbatorix and how long he wished that he could fight for the better of the Empire wouldn't get through to this man, no matter how hard he tried. It was only a matter of time before he was face-to-face with the rage of a whole race. He just wished it wasn't outside of a room where the sole owner of his heart was being treated from a murder attempt upon her life.

He gave a low, tired breath and met the Dwarf king's angry stare. "I realize that the war and my actions have driven a dark stake between us, but as much as you hate me, there are bigger things to worry about than the grudges we hold against one another," he said carefully. "In time, you will find the chance for your fallen King's retribution, but for now I ask you to place your anger aside and find a way to rebuild the bridges that have fallen between our people. If not for me, than for Nasuada."

Orik made an indigent sound in the back of his throat for being spoken down upon by somebody he so very loathed, but something stilled his tongue from further expressing his apparent dislike for the Dragon Rider. After a long moment of silence, Orik gave a snort and stormed away, spinning his axe in agitation. Murtagh gave a small sigh of relief before taking up his place against the wall again, crossing his arms.

"Shit," one of the guards commented with a low, nervous chuckle. "I thought he was going to rip you apart!"

Murtagh met the man's look, his lips lifting up a bit. "He probably would if I gave him the chance."

The second guard chuckled as well. "I'm not the biggest fan of dwarves, but they are something else in battle and definitely pack one hell of a punch. Especially that one. I would have pissed myself, if I were you."

Murtagh shrugged. "It's hard to be scared of a dwarf when you have gone toe-to-toe with a Kull."

"That's definitely true," the first guard laughed. The three of them chuckled softly for a moment longer until the second guard felt comfortable enough to ask the question on his mind.

"I don't want to pry or anything, but I can't help but notice that you called the Queen by her name?" he voiced. "Is there… something going on between you two?"

Murtagh gave a small secretive smile. "Does the Queen know you have been gossiping about her?" The two guards gave each other a nervous glance. "You are not wrong," Murtagh admitted. "I have been in love with her since before the end of the last war."

The confession came easy. Much easier than he expected. And the resulting relief that followed wasn't unwanted. The two guards nodded, as if they expected that sort of answer.

"So, is that the reason for all your… " the guard gestured as he attempted to find the right word. "'Help the people' motives?"

"Part of it," the Rider said. "But I promise you, my actions are genuine."

The guard nodded, considering his words. Before he could continue the conversation, the door to Nasuada's room opened, the healer making a quiet exit. Murtagh pushed away from the wall, looking to him anxiously. The healer gave a bit of a surprised look at seeing the Dragon Rider, but put it aside.

"She will be fine," he told Murtagh. "A bit of rest to calm her nerves, but her health is fine. She is a very strong woman."

Murtagh's relieved smile melted into a gentle, pleased one. "Yes, she is," he said softly. "May I see her?"

"Well," the healer huffed slightly. "Who am I to keep a Queen from seeing who she wants?" He gave an amused smile and nodded. Murtagh missed the shared look the guards gave as he rushed inside.

Nasuada sat upon a gently unmade bed, back pressed against the backboard, her eyes closed for a moment. A few of her retainers were moving about the room, fixing it up so it could be fit for a Queen. They paused when they saw Murtagh enter the room. He saw them, but he didn't pay them any heed as he moved to Nasuada's side. He gently placed Zar'roc on the ground and took up the chair placed beside her bed before carefully taking her hand into his. Her eyes snapped open at the contact, but her sharp gaze softened when she saw him.

"Murtagh," she breathed, a small, genuine smile gracing her features. Murtagh smiled softly in return, rubbing his thumb across the back of her hand. Both noticed the retainers' silent exit, but chose not to give it any attention. By the end of the day, every person at the Urgal Games would know about the secret relationship between the Queen and the Rider. They weren't trying to hide it, but now that it was out in the open, it was just another thing they would have to face. Bring hell or high water, they would face it together.

"I am happy to see you," Nasuada said softly, her eyes sparkling with a joy he had not seen before. He noted that her hands had stopped shaking since the encounter that afternoon.

"And I, you," he responded in like. "How are you feeling?"

"Dreadful," she admitted. "But I shall persevere."

Murtagh gave a small sigh of relief, and allowed his head to drop to the blanket of her lap. He didn't realize just how high-strung the situation had made him. Her gentle fingers began to comb through his hair, the tension in his back releasing. He gave a small sigh of pleasure.

"I am sorry you had to forfeit the Games because of me." There was a sharp note of disappointment in Nasuada's voice. Murtagh turned his head a bit so he could see her face. Her lips were turned down and her eyes distantly focused on his hair. "I will speak to the officials tomorro-"

"I do not care," he responded. "I would drop everything to come to your aid."

Nasuada pulled a face. "I wish you did not have to."

"But if not I, then who?" he asked. She met his eyes. "Few people can see through your tough exterior, Nasuada." His eyes traced the scars the burrow grubs left behind along the inside of her arm. "Even you are vulnerable at times."

Nasuada closed her eyes again. His words seemed to unlock a door of some sort inside of her that she was struggling to keep closed. Two crystalline tears dripped down her cheeks, her chin trembling slightly as she struggled to keep the quiet sob from escaping. Murtagh watched her from his spot on her lap, gently holding her hand as she struggled to allow her vulnerable side to take over. When the soft sob finally came from her lips, Murtagh gently sat up to pull her into his arms. She cried for a long time, fingers clutching the back of his shirt as she allowed herself to feel the emotions she hid during the encounter earlier that afternoon. She may not allow the Kingdom to see her so vulnerable, but in the arms of the man she loved, it was okay. It was okay to be less than perfect.

He stayed silent as she let herself fall apart in his arms and slowly pull herself back together. She breathed slowly against his shoulder, gradually calming down into a soft, natural pace when he heard it. It was whisper soft, and unintentional, and yet it still struck a lightning bolt straight into his gut.

"_I love you_…"

In the event that she didn't mean for him to hear it, he didn't respond, but hid his smile somewhere in the soft curls of her hair. There were things that loomed over their heads, but he couldn't bring himself to give a damn about them in that moment. He let them all float to the recesses of his mind while he lingered in a moment that felt more real to him than half his lived life.


	17. Chapter 17

_Pömnuria Hjarta er medh Ono_

**A/N**: Thank you guys so much for being patient with me. My mind has been finicky with writing different things, but I haven't given up on pushing through this difficult phase of the story. I've come to realize that with writing semi-popular stories chapter by chapter, there are going to be a few people who are disappointed with how things play out. It's been a learning experience for me to figure out how to move past that and write the story for me as much for the rest of you guys. Regardless, I'm still having fun writing it, even when I dread it! So thank you all for those of you who have supported me this far!

I went back a read a couple of the first chapters of this story and I wonder to myself… How did you guys even decide to follow this story with a start like that? The beginning needs some work, that's for sure. lol I've come to realize that my story has twisted the characters a bit out of their original characterizations, but I half expected that to happen because I'm not C.P. and I haven't read _Inheritance_ since it first came out. (oops?) SO… I take fanfiction author's liberties with the characters? There's a lot I would change if I went back and re-wrote this story, but I'm going to continue with what I have right now. So I hope you can forgive me and continue to enjoy the tale I'm weaving.

… Is anybody still reading my extremely lengthy author's note?

Anyway, much love to **kumar** for diligently reminding me that this story still existed. This chapter is dedicated to you, my dear.

**Disclaimer**: Maybe deadlines would actually help me write this more if I was going to get it published. Not mine.

ENJOY!

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The sun had fallen by the time things began to calm down, and even then, the crisp night air had an edge of agitation to it. Murtagh had lingered around the inn Nasuada was staying in long enough to hear the discontent of the people about the way things had turned out at the games earlier that day. Just as he had suspected, they disqualified him from moving forward in the competition. Surprisingly, a number of people in the crowd had protested the official ruling, and while he felt touched that they would support him, regardless of intention, he didn't have it in him to fight for qualification again. His mind kept circling back to what occurred earlier that day, the stark ugly face of the magician burning behind his eyes. A low burn settled deep in his stomach and he swiftly left the city's parameters.

"I let him escape," he murmured. The lights of Gil'ead were dimmer, glimmering in the distance from the spot he settled in against Thorn. His knees were pulled up against his chest and he closed his eyes, letting the familiar waves of deep pain wash over him. His fingers dug into the rough fabric of his trousers with a white knuckled grip. The dragon shifted behind him, placing his head on the ground beside his rider. He could feel the dragon's pain through their link, and curled tighter upon himself. "I let him escape," he repeated.

Thorn let his tail move closer to his rider, and he gently nudged him with his nose. _You had other things on your mind_.

"That's no excuse," Murtagh snapped. A bolt of pain shot through his chest and he drew in a jagged breath. "The only lead we had on this Pure Spring died beside me, shot through the chest by the man I let escape in my incompetence!" The fire within him burned hotter. He grit his teeth. "He should not have escaped."

_Sometimes we cannot help these things_.

"But I can!" Murtagh yelled. "He was there! Right _there_. Now he's long gone, and we lost our chance to gain the Urgal's trust due to my single-track mind." He glared at his knees. "What do we have left?" he asked, his voice quiet. "Where do we go from here?"

Thorn's answer was confident. _Forward_.

Murtagh looked over at his dragon. Thorn snorted sharply, meeting his eyes with one of his own. _What point is there to stew over something already past?_

"We have no other options."

_You think too narrowly. Look at what lies in front of you for once._

Murtagh pulled a face at his dragon. "I _do_-"

_**Look**_**,** _you near-sighted fool!_

Murtagh glared at the red dragon before looking up. Standing a few yards away from them were a pair of Urgals. Murtagh's muscles tightened briefly in suspicion, but Thorn's calmness kept him from launching to grab Zar'roc. Instead, he observed.

Almost immediately, he recognized the shorter of the two to be the current champion of the Games, a smaller Urgal who went by the name Razdavit. Standing incredibly close to him was a large Kull, and upon closer inspection, Murtagh realized the Kull was female. Her horns were large and curved upward, and she boasted tightly toned muscles typical of her kind. But where Razdavit projected confidence, she seemed more timid, her stance more guarded. Meeting the smaller Urgal's eyes, Murtagh forced himself to rise to his feet. The pain in his core flared white hot and he bit down upon his lip until he felt it start to bleed.

"Shur'tugal," Razdavit greeted in a deep, gritty voice. "I have a proposal."

Murtagh hesitated, suspicious. "Urgals don't make proposals."

"Then a deal," the Urgal responded. "You have what I want. I have what you want. I want to trade."

Murtagh eyed the Kull woman suspiciously. "And what would that be?"

"Information. About the Biśud'dha Sprin."

Murtagh narrowed his eyes. _Should we trust him?_ he asked Thorn.

_I do._

The Rider glanced up at his dragon, surprised by the sureness in Thorn's voice. Turning back to the pair of Urgals he decided to remain cautious for a while longer. "Why should that matter to me?"

"You have the darkness," Razdavit said. "Tikhi has the gift. She sees it in you. And your dragon."

A sinking feeling dropped in Murtagh's stomach. Unconsciously, he moved closer to Thorn. "What do you want from me?"

"A fight," the Urgal responded.

"A fight?" Murtagh repeated in surprise.

Razdavit lifted his shoulders in a way that made his chest seem broader. "Disqualification unforeseen. I want to fight. If you defeat me, I will tell you about the Biśud'dha Sprin."

Murtagh didn't respond.

_You can win_, Thorn told him.

Thorn's confidence bled through their link and the burn of the curse in his belly lessened slightly. It didn't take him long to realize that this was the only chance he had left to find the information they needed. And damn if he wasn't going to try to get it. Steeling his own shoulders, he met Razdavit's gaze. "Fine. I will fight you."

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

If there was something Murtagh would remember throughout his life, it was that smaller Urgals were nothing to be trifled with. Razdavit, small already for a regular Urgal, barely stood taller than Murtagh himself, but he fought with an agility and ruthlessness that caught Murtagh off guard. WIthin seconds of their fight, the Rider was already flat on his back, wheezing for a breath.

"Stand up, Shur'tugal," the champion said.

Irritated by his incompetence so early in the game, Murtagh got to his feet quickly and ignored the discomfort in the lower part of his spine. Falling back into a familiar stance, he changed his tactics. Razdavit fought the same way any smaller man would: he used the weight of his opponent against them. It was a form that focused on side-stepping and creating a lack of balance, and Murtagh figured the best way to counter that was to use the same tactic against him.

Taking a few steps forward, he launched into his attack again. The Urgal hung back, waiting for him to move, so Murtagh instigated an attack, aiming a right hook for the Urgal's face. Razdavit ducked under the punch and used Murtagh's forward momentum to flip him over his shoulder. The Dragon Rider hit the ground with jarring force, his breath leaving him again in a sharp and sudden rush. But he didn't wait to regain his breath and pulled himself back onto his feet. He darted in for another frontal attack, watching the Urgal dodge again and reach in for another shoulder throw. Only this time, Murtagh side-stepped the counterattack. He took the opportunity to swing for Razdavit's face again only to feel the world go off-kilter as his knee gave out from underneath him. He hit the ground a third time in less than a few minutes, stars spinning in his vision.

Razdavit gave a low growl of annoyance. "Is this the best a Dragon Rider can do?" he demanded. "Have I misjudged you, Shur'tugal?"

The insult stung against Murtagh's pride. Lifting himself from the ground, he sent the Urgal a glare. "You haven't seen anything yet."

Razdavit gave a grin of broken grey teeth and the battle continued.

If there was anything Murtagh could pride himself upon, it was ability to adapt throughout a battle. It saved his life many times before, and quickly brought him up to par with the Urgal who exchanged blows with him now. He ducked a particularly deadly swipe at his face and quickly sidestepped Razdavit's attempt to trip him again. He started to notice the Urgal's grin grow wider as the fight grew on, until finally, Murtagh landed a solid blow upon his jaw. The champion stumbled back a few steps and moved his jaw a few times before he broke out into an devilish grin.

"That is more like it!" he crowed and launched himself at the Rider again. Now more adapted to their fighting styles, they started landing devastating blow after devastating blow upon each other. Murtagh felt the strain in his muscles and the sting of fresh bruises as he took and dealt blow after blow. Razdavit was growing more excited with every spray of blood and smack of a fist against flesh, but Murtagh's hands were starting to shake. He could feel the fire in his belly returning with a vengeance and he grit his teeth. Hard. He took a punch to the face and stumbled back, breathing hard.

"You look tired, Shur'tugal," Razdavit said. "You will not win like this."

Murtagh ignored him and forced himself up, squeezing his hands tight as the fire in his belly licked at the bottom of his lungs. Razdavit observed him for a long moment before frowning.

"Are you giving up?"

Murtagh glared at him. "Don't insult me," he hissed through grit teeth. He took a sharp breath and launched himself back into their duel.

The battle was sharp and fierce, but Murtagh grew weaker with every swing of his arm. Despite his handicap, he felt a brief flicker of pride at the fact that Razdavit was looking a little worse for wear, dark blood staining the Urgal's bruised lip. More than a couple more times, Murtagh hit the ground, a searing pain shooting through his gut every time he landed. But his pride kept him from staying down for long and he pushed himself through the pain to stand upon his feet again and again. He wasn't about to give up. Not when they were so close to finding what they needed. He swallowed the pain once again and stood on shaking, weary limbs and faced him again. Blood coated his chin from where he bit his lip too hard, his cheek stung with a forming bruise, and the pain roaring within him was so intense that all he could do was stand there and wait to be attacked. He could tell, even through blurred vision, that Razdavit knew this was the end of their battle. One more hit upon him and Murtagh wasn't sure he'd have the strength to rise to his feet again.

Razdavit took a step forward, but was halted by the low grunts of the Kull female standing a few paces away from them. She spoke quickly in her native tongue and whatever she said shocked Razdavit enough that he froze in his advance. He turned surprised yellow eyes back to Murtagh and growled loudly.

"Is this true, Shur'tugal?" he demanded. "The darkness affects you even now?"

Murtagh didn't respond. He merely swayed on his feet, his vision fading in and out. The Kull female approached him.

"Shur'tugal," she said in rough, broken language. "Sit."

Murtagh stared at her for a long moment before the world around him spun. He dropped to the ground with a thud, the fire in his stomach blazing. A soft gasp of agony passed his lips unbidden. Distantly, he recognized the call of his dragon in his head, and the sound of Thorn approaching. He gasped again, a spear of searing pain striking upon the core of him. Tears burned down the sides of his face, a soundless scream catching in his throat. Thorn roared, then let out a horribly helpless whimper. His mind felt like it was on fire, like he was burning from the inside out.

"Relax, Shur'tugal."

A heavy palm settled upon his brow, and a chill crawled from the crown of his head through his veins until the inferno dimmed to a simmer. He gasped, sharp and painful, at the dramatic difference. Remnant tears dropped down his cheeks, and he took several deep breaths, the pain only a mere irritant now.

"You in danger, Shur'tugal," the Kull female said. "Much danger."

"What did you do?" he rasped out.

"Put darkness away," she said. She met his eyes. "We tell you about Sprin now."

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A/N: Thank you for reading! Please review?


	18. Chapter 18

_Pömnuria Hjarta er medh Ono_

**A/N:** I swear. My inconsistent updating schedule is due to the fact that my life is really giving me zero downtime to write. I just applied (and was accepted) for a semester study abroad in Japan, and I swear. The paper work never ends. So forgive me. :( I do want to thank you all for your lovely response for last chapter. This chapter was originally intended to be a part of the last chapter, but time wasn't kind to me, so I just updated what I could. Anyway, enough of me talking. Onto the story!

Major shout out to my co-author Suma Susaki for helping me through this chapter! It wasn't very easy to write, and I SO appreciate her help. Much love, sister! :D

**Disclaimer: **Ironically, I love Urgal lore. At least, I love coming up with it. Not mine.

ENJOY!

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For some reason that escaped him, Murtagh didn't realize that for an event called the "Urgal Games" there seemed to be a strange lack of Urgals. Granted, they made up more than half of the contestants in the games, but the events took place in a very human-like settlement unlike how the name suggested. The thought didn't start to trouble him until he found himself following the games Champion into the strangely inconspicuous Urgal encampment just outside of Gil'ead. Made up of rudimentary tents built in a rough circle, the Urgals went about their business, cooking meat over large pit-fires, carving potential weapons out of wood and grunting to each other in a way Murtagh would remotely consider to be conversation. As they approached the settlement, multiple beady yellow eyes lifted to follow the movement of the Rider and his dragon. Despite their so-called treaty, the sight of so many creatures he once considered enemies in such close proximity didn't fail to sent a chill of discomfort to creep down Murtagh's spine. Thorn unintentionally let a low growl escape his scaled lips as they approached, but none of the Urgals moved. They watched the Rider and dragon come and go, but the tense atmosphere just wasn't there. Several continued their duties or their grunting conversations and merely let them pass. A sign of good faith, perhaps, but Murtagh still felt uneasy.

Razdavit seemed unperturbed by the looks they received along their way and led them to a smaller tent outside of the main encampment, a small fire burning lowly outside the entrance. He gestured to enter the tent and Murtagh slid from Thorn's back with careful slowness. His head still felt heavy from the curse attack earlier that night, but it was a dull sort of ache that was more of nuisance than an obstacle at that point. The Rider kept Zar'roc attached to his hip as he entered the tent, more out of comfort than worry. Thorn took up a spot beside the tent, just out of Murtagh's view.

The interior of the tent was more homy than the Rider expected, thick pelts of fur covering the floor and various animalistic depictions of Urgal endeavors were painted onto the walls of the tent. A smaller fire-pit burned in the center of the tent providing warmth and light. The female Urgal took up a place upon a pelt across from the Rider. Razdavit took time to prepare some sort of food as Murtagh crossed his legs and settled into his seat. The Champion offered a curved wooden bowl out to the female Urgal who took it from him graciously, and offered a second one to Murtagh. After seeing the light grey stew-like substance held within the bowl, Murtagh politely declined the less than appetizing meal. Razdavit didn't question the Rider's choice and started in on the bowl himself.

The female Kull stared at the Rider for a long time and tipped her bowl up against her lips to finish it off quickly. She placed the finished bowl on the ground beside her and spoke. "Tihki is Seer," she said. "Tihki sees darkness. You touch darkness, yes?"

Murtagh wasn't sure how to respond to that. He chose to ask a question instead. "What is the 'darkness'?"

Tihki frowned. "Bad magic. Tihki sees blackness. Anger. Hate. Danger. Much danger."

Murtagh frowned. "What does that mean?"

"Bad things," she said. "Where you find darkness?"

Murtagh pressed his lips together. Something told him that the Urgals would not take kindly to his invasion of their ancient tombs. "How did you know I needed to know about the Spring?"

There was a note of sharp distrust in his voice and Razdavit looked up from his meal. Swallowing one last mouthful, the Champion placed his bowl upon the ground and met Murtagh's eyes. "Shur'tugal," he said in his gravely voice. "We want to help."

Murtagh looked at him. "Why?"

Razdavit lifted his chest a bit to look slightly more intimidating. "Our fight did not satisfy me. I want to fight you again, so I will help you."

_If you are seeking a deeper reason for their aid, then you may be searching for something that does not exist_, Thorn said. _His words are honest._

_I find it hard to believe that they would relinquish their closest guarded secrets for the sake of a fight_, Murtagh argued.

_You are over thinking_, the dragon said. _Urgals need no other reason than that._

Sighing through his nose, Murtagh let his shoulders slack a bit. _Perhaps you are right_.

_Of course I am_.

The Rider ignored Thorn's comment and looked back over to the seer Urgal. For the first time since they met, he realized the Kull female had uniquely shaped beads strung through the matted dark hair that came from between her curved horns. He met her yellow eyes. "I received the curse in the Barrows of Anghelm."

The name struck a chord in the Urgals. Tihki sent an uncomfortable look over at Razdavit who merely pressed his grey lips together. Her voice was whisper soft and frightened when she spoke. "Bad. Very bad."

"Judging from the pain in my gut, I'd have to agree with you," Murtagh said with a humorless laugh. He let the sharp, unnatural sound fade away as he stared into the flickering flame in the middle of the room. "What have I done?"

From across the tent, the pair of Urgals shifted in their seats. The Kull female looked distinctly uncomfortable as though the subject of the curse frightened her. Razdavit was less nervous, but the Urgal champion was clearly on edge. He was the one to break the silence.

"There is a story Urgralgra tell our cubs," he began. "A story of dragons and the one and only Urgralgra Król." Belatedly, Murtagh realized he was talking about the Urgal King and sat up in his seat, giving the Urgal his full attention. In the back of his mind, he felt Thorn's attention sharpen as well.

"It is legend now. When dragons and Urgralgra ruled the land, all creatures had magic. Even Urgralgra," Razdavit said. "The strongest warrior of the clans fought with magic. He defeated all enemies. United all tribes. He was strong. Very strong. But ruthless and cruel. He killed all Urgralgra who opposed him. Urgralgra feared and respected him.

"But his rule was corrupt. He killed more Urgralgra than needed and the tribes grew angry. But they could not fight. The Urgralgra Król killed all that fought him. Soon, he began to kill for fun. Whole tribes. Hundreds of Urgralgra. But still, they could not fight. In a short time, there were few Urgralgra left. Then there came hope. A story of a young cub who found a dragon."

The Urgal was named Khvast. Razdavit described the cub to be tall but wiry, and his horns developed much later than most of the cubs his age, which gave the other Urgals in the tribe the impression that he would not amount to much. Three years later than expected, Khvast went on a hunting trip by himself to prove his strength. His peers had returned with goats or wolves, but he intended to show them that he was worthy and began to track the steps of a wild bear deep into the forest. On the third day of his hunt, he found something better. The predator of all predators: a dragon. Lying on the forest floor in a bed of fallen pine needles, the pale white dragon was hardly bigger than Khvast was. From where the Urgal child stood, he could tell that this small dragon was wounded already. He had one wing clenched tightly against his side while the other was nipped off at the joint, leaving only a small nub of mottled flesh where a wing once was. The dragon was sharp though, and as Khvast approached it, the dragon hissed in warning, forcing itself onto its feet, its one wing pulling out threateningly.

Khvast could not bring himself to harm the dragon, though. He had a strong sense of honor and killing an already grounded dragon wouldn't give him the honor he wanted from his tribe. So instead of attacking, Khvast placed his spear upon the ground and spoke to it. Told the dragon that he did not want to harm it. The dragon, more intelligent than the Urgals gave them credit, understood Khvast's plea and relaxed. Khvast realized quickly that the dragon was separated from its tribe due to its injury and could not fly to find them. Realizing that he would die on the ground and in the claws of any predators left in the forest, Khvast quickly forgot about his hunt to prove himself and chose to help the dragon instead.

He received much disappointment from his tribe for not finishing his hunt, but Khvast worked long and hard with the dragon he named Odno Krylo, One Wing. The two of them grew close, and while they could not communicate directly as Riders did, they were friends and they worked together to defeat their enemies and gain names among the Urgralgra. In good time, when both Dragon and Urgal were big and strong, they heard of the tyranny of the Urgal King and the killing of their brothers and sisters, they sought to do what no other Urgal could do before: defeat the king.

Not many Urgals had faith in the young Urgal and his dragon, but with every battle they won and they closer they came to battling the King himself, the more the Urgals cheered for them. Soon, they found themselves at the throne of the king himself. Kulkarvek, an Urgal of old age and power, was the largest Urgal the Urgralgra had ever come to see. His horns were huge, a tribute to his age and power, spiraling around themselves several times as they framed his face. At the sight of the young Urgal and his dragon, the Urgal King merely laughed.

The battle raged for several days. Much longer than any Urgal gave it credit. Khvast and Odno Krylo were resilient in their efforts to defeat the king and Kulkarvek held them dangerously at the tip of his sword for many days. But while they were strong-willed, the King was stronger. He used his battle experience and gifts in dark magic to bring the young Urgal and his dragon to their knees. At the apex of the battle, Kulkarvek had Khvast pinned to the stone wall by his sword, dark blood falling from the young Urgal's body. Odno Krylo had exhausted his fire and roared weakly from his place across the throne room. It was clear that it would be the end of Khvast and his dragon. Yet, just as Kulkarvek rose his sword to deliver the final blow, Khvast struck out one last time with his spear, a brilliant blue flame erupting along the shaft. Numbed by shock, the spear stuck the Kulkarvek in the chest and the King fell. But as Khvast pulled himself to his feet in victory, the King had one last attack upon his deathbed and plunged a clawed hand into the gut of the young Urgal, whispering the words of a promise to bring the young Urgal to an end. A dying curse that whatever magic his body holds to cause him pain until he died a painful, lonely death. It was a curse of hate, intended to bring Khvast down the same way Kulkarvek was.

Despite his victory, Khvast cried in agony as he writhed upon the bloody and broken floor of the throne room. Odno Krylo pulled himself over to where his friend lie in pain. Doing what a dragon should, Odno Krylo tapped into his natural magic and allowed the pain of his friend to diminish as they shared the pain between them. As they were tied in life, they became tied in death. The body of the Urgal King was laid to rest in the distant lands of the Urgal Homeland, deep in the Barrows of Anghelm while Khvast and his dragon traveled far to find solace to their shared pain cast upon them by the King.

"Did they find it?" Murtagh asked with bated breath. The story hit too close to home and he struggled to keep his hands from shaking in his lap. In the back of his mind, he could feel Thorn's unease at the tale as well.

"No, Shur'tugal," Razdavit said. The knot in Murtagh's throat twisted tighter. "They could not find a cure. But they did create one."

_The Spring_, Thorn connected. Murtagh repeated Thorn's deduction.

Razdavit nodded. "Odno Krylo did not want to see his friend die in agony. They traveled far to a place where there was peace, and Odno Krylo used the last of his magic to seal them both away from the pain of the curse. The rains fell around them and the Sprin was born. The last of their magic gave the water the power to heal. The Biśud'dha Sprin is all that is left of them now."

"And it still exists?" Murtagh asked anxiously. "Can I still find it?"

"Yes," the Urgal replied. "But the Sprin is a close guarded secret. You will not find it easily."

"But I can find it," Murtagh said, with a hint of excitement. "Please tell me where it is."

There was a hint of hesitation in Razdavit's answer, indicating that even he was reluctant to give out secrets long kept by those of his race. The female Kull was the one to answer. She had been relatively silent throughout the exchange, but her yellow eyes held an unusual light of confidence.

"The Sprin is deep in the farthest island in South," she said.

Murtagh quickly ran over the maps he had seen of Alagaësia in his mind. _Surda_, he thought to Thorn. _She's talking about the Isles of Surda_.

Something touched his hand and he jerked away for a moment before he realized that the Urgal woman had reached out to touch him. Already, her hand was retreating back.

"You find it, Shur'tugal." she said confidently. "Bring light to darkness."

Murtagh looked at her and nodded once. Whatever their personal reasons for helping him out, he couldn't be more grateful in that moment for the kindness they showed him. Before then, he did not think much of Urgals, but now he was starting to realize that there was more to them than he originally thought.

"Thank you. For everything," he said sincerely. "I don't know how to repay you."

"Come back to fight me, and we will call it even," Razdavit responded.

Murtagh cracked a small smile. "You are a formidable opponent. I look forward to that rematch."

The Champion let a wide grin form across his face. "So do I, Shur'tugal. Then we can decide who is better."

"Prepared to be surprised," Murtagh said.

"We will see." Murtagh rose from his seat. "I wish you good travels, Shur'tugal."

"And I wish you luck for the remainder of the Games," the Rider responded. "Until we meet again." He nodded toward Tihki as he exited the tent.

Thorn was already on his feet when Murtagh saw him. The dragon motioned for him to get on his back.

_Come, __bróðir__. We have a purpose to fulfill_.

"I think you mean, a curse to break," Murtagh said with a grin and quickly pulled himself upon Thorn's back. The dragon let out a triumphant roar as Murtagh strapped himself in, and they took to the skies.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Murtagh didn't carry many bags when he flew with Thorn. His meager belongings included his cloak, Zar'roc, a few changes of clothes, previsions and a ring he had slipped off Nasuada's fingers just after she was captured during the battle against Galbatorix. It wasn't a lot, but he didn't need much. Even as they skirted the edge of Gil'ead, heading for Surda, Murtagh hesitated.

_Hold on. I forgot something_.

Thorn gave a deep sigh. _If you plan to lie to me, I suggest being less obvious about it._

_Just turn around._

The Rider felt Thorn's annoyance through their link, but the dragon turned his wings anyway, heading back toward the softly glowing Gil'ead. He landed outside of the town, trotting a few steps into a halt and Murtagh leapt off his back, Zar'roc in hand as he jogged toward town.

"I won't be long," he called.

The dragon settled into a comfortable position. _I seriously doubt that_.

Murtagh ignored him and weaved his way through the city, quickly finding the inn he left Nasuada in. He lingered in the alley for a long moment, debating if he should use the door. It was habit that had him climbing the walls to her window. Carefully pulling himself up to her windowsill, he quietly knocked against the glass. There was a shuffle from inside before the window pulled open inward. He quietly dropped into the room. As his eyes adjusted to the darkness, a pair of arms locked around him.

"Oh, Murtagh," Nasuada breathed. She held him tightly, as if she was afraid he'd disappear. "I was worried you would not return."

His heart skipped a painful beat and he lifted his arms to hold her against him. She sighed softly into his chest and he gently rested his cheek against her head. How was he to tell her that he was leaving again?

"I would never leave without telling you," he said softly. Nasuada was silent before a soft sigh passed her lips.

"That's why you are here," she said.

Murtagh sighed himself. "I would not leave you unless I had to."

She pulled herself out of his grip. The cool night air against his chest was discomforting. He made sure to keep his hands on her shoulders.

"I know you are right," she said. "There is no reason for me to become melancholy."

Murtagh frowned. She wasn't looking at him. Lifting a hand from her shoulder, he tucked some of her dark curls behind her ear, his fingers lingering against the skin of her cheek. "You are too strong for your own good, Nasuada."

She sighed softly and leaned into his touch, her stiff shoulders slumping slightly. "What is there for me to do but wait?"

"I will not be gone long this time," he promised. "Enjoy the games. Thorn and I will find a cure to our curse and I will return to you a new man."

That caught her attention. She pulled away to look at him. "You found it?"

"I found something," he responded. He was being modest, but the excited smile lifted at his lips. Her smile was brilliant even in the darkness.

"Oh, Murtagh!" she said. "That is wonderful! How did you get the information from the Urgals if you were disqualified from the Games?"

"Apparently I wasn't the only one that was disappointed from my disqualification," he said. "Razdavit sought me out for a battle, but when he found out that my curse cost him an honorable battle, he gave me the information to cure the curse."

Nasuada wasn't surprised. "I guess you can count on an Urgal to put battles before anything else."

There was a brief silence and Nasuada leaned into Murtagh's touch again. He gave a quiet, reluctant sigh and looped his arms around her again. It felt too good to hold her against him. He didn't realize how much he missed her until that moment. He dropped his forehead against her shoulder and squeezed her close. Her fingers traced small circles against his back.

"How long will you be gone?" she whispered.

"I don't know," he breathed. "I have to find it, and that may take time."

"I wish I could do more," she sighed. He didn't respond but his fingers played with the ends of Nasuada's loosened hair. "Where are you going?" she asked.

"Not far," he said softly. "They spoke of a sacred place in the south that would provide us with the answers we need."

"South," she repeated softly. "South, as in Surda?" Murtagh frowned into her hair, taking note of the anxious note in her voice. He carefully pulled away to look at her. Her eyes were worried. "Surda is in turmoil, Murtagh. It's dangerous."

"Turmoil?" he repeated.

"There is unrest in the kingdom, riots in the villages and treachery amongst the King's court," she said in a hushed voice. "To fly to Surda now would mean a certain attack. Orrin would consider your presence a threat against his country."

Murtagh pressed his lips into a troubled frown. "Nasuada," he said reluctantly. "I have to go."

"Then you need an alibi to cover your story," she responded. "A solid reason for why you are there that does not create suspicion."

Murtagh sighed. "I do not have any such reason."

Nasuada met his eyes. "You would if you brought me."

He was already shaking his head. "Nasuada, that is not a good idea."

"Hear me out," she pleaded. "I'm afraid that the situation in Surda may grow to such a boiling point that reason would be futile against the rage of war. If I go now, there may still be a chance that we can lead Orrin to reason and pull Surda back under his control."

Murtagh's brow creased and he rubbed the bridge of his nose. "I understand, but I cannot agree that it is a good idea."

"Why not?" she asked.

"Because there is too much at stake," he responded. "There are too many people already that want you dead. I will not have you walking into even more danger when it already exists." His heart twisted uncomfortably in his chest, his voice taking on a pained edge. "I cannot bear the thought of you dying, Nasuada." He met her eyes, hoping they could express his turmoil to her. "I am trying to look out for you, Nasuada."

She held his gaze for a long while before closing her eyes and sighing. "There is nothing to fear, Murtagh. As long as you protect me, I do not worry for my life," she responded softly. "But I cannot let this opportunity pass. I have already spent too many years ruling from a distant throne. A Queen is only as strong as the actions she is willing to perform."

He closed his eyes, uncertain. "Nasuada, I cannot take you with me."

"I am not giving you a choice, Rider," she responded, a touch of authority coloring her voice.

"Please," he said softly. "There is nothing I want more than to whisk you away with Thorn and I, but you must think about what you are risking."

"I am," she answered. "The Games are almost over. My spokespeople can cover my absence by telling the people I had to leave on urgent business. I have already left the council in control of Ilirea and they will oversee the ruling of the Empire until my return. I will be sure that Jörmundur takes care of the details." She gently cupped Murtagh's face with her hands, pleading to him with her eyes. "Please believe me when I say I must do this."

He closed his eyes, gently allowing his forehead to fall against hers. "How can I argue with you if you have already so thoroughly beaten me?" He felt her smile lightly at his words. "Just, do me a favor. Write a note or tell somebody that you are leaving. I do not wish to be accused of kidnapping the Queen."

She laughed. "Of course," she said leaning away. She smiled, the excitement glistening in her eyes. "Thank you."

She turned away to gather her things. Murtagh rubbed his forehead, knowing that he'd come to regret this decision, but chose not to dwell on that at the moment. When she was ready, she had changed from her sleep clothes into a pair of close-cut trousers that showed off more of her figure than Murtagh was used to. He tried not to stare as he picked up her things and headed for the window. She slipped a thin note atop the covers of her bed, addressed to the retainers she had brought with her and followed him suit. He offered an arm to her, to help her out but she refused him and hoisted herself out the window. Murtagh let her go, knowing that it was better to let her do what she wanted in the end.

The two of them worked their way back through Gil'ead to where Thorn was still laid out on the grass waiting for him. As they approached, he lifted his head to greet him. Eying the second, unexpected guest, Thorn snorted out of his nose.

_Well. I suppose you did not lie to me about forgetting something._


	19. Chapter 19

_Pömnuria Hjarta er medh Ono_

**A/N:** And somehow another two months have passed without me realizing it. o.O Anyway! This chapter marks the one-year anniversary of this story first being posted! (Sort of. lol) In commemoration of that, I dedicate this chapter to all of my readers who have somehow stuck with me since I first posted this story. It wouldn't be where it is now if not for the few who gave it support when it first began. Thank you all so very very much!

And thank you all so very much for encouraging me to continue writing, even when my life bogs down my writing time. I really do love this story and all you people who take the time to tell me you're enjoying it as well. It really makes me so happy. Thank you all so much!

I just wish I could give you guys a better chapter after waiting for so long.

Much love goes to **saphira and shruikan** for taking the time to beta this chapter for me!

**Disclaimer: **I don't own it, because if I did, nothing would ever get done. They'd talk forever. lol

ENJOY!

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Murtagh folded the map Nasuada gave him and tucked it away into his pack. Wearily, he rubbed the bridge of his nose and leaned back against the dragon he sat up against.

_There's too much land to cover on foot,_ he told Thorn. _Even though we know which island its on, there's no way to tell where it would even be. It could very well be underground for all we know._

_Consider it a good thing_, Thorn replied. _If it was easily found then it would cease to be a "Great Urgal Secret"_. _I would question its legitimacy. _

Murtagh sighed._ I would question it as well._

He crossed his arms and settled himself comfortably against his dragon. Unintentionally, he looked out over the distant spires of Ilirea, imagining that he could see Nasuada speaking with Jörmundur from his place among the trees. She told him she wouldn't be gone long and refused to have him follow her back into the city to lessen the chance that they would be recognized. His reasons fell upon deaf ears and he resigned to wait for her at the edge of the city until he returned. Talking to Thorn helped, but with her gone, Murtagh was feeling more anxious than he was comfortable with. Closing his eyes, he tried to distract himself.

_Why would she come with us?_ he asked after a while.

_She had her reasons,_ Thorn responded.

_She needs to be here,_ Murtagh argued. _She does not trust the council enough to let the rule in her stead, and there is only so much she can do from a distance. _

Thorn sighed. _Nasuada is not reckless, Murtagh. She considered the consequences of her actions before she even decided to come with us. Worried she may be, but she believes that there is something she must do, and who are we to prevent her from doing so?_

Murtagh was silent, his mind rolling around the information he wasn't sure he wanted to hear. Opening his eyes to look back out at Ilirea, hoping he could see Nasuada coming up the hill towards them, he sighed.

_I trust her,_ he said. _But I have a bad feeling I can't shake. _

Thorn shifted behind him. _As do I._

_There are too many factors playing into this,_ Murtagh said._ First the piracy down amongst the Isles, then the assassination attempt against Nasuada for information about the Spring. And now the situation with the Nighthawks… They are not a bunch of two-bit warriors for hire. If _they_ are having trouble, then we may be in over our heads going into this one_. He gave a quiet sigh. _I just wish she would heed my warning. I am already worried enough, and I could not bear it if she were hurt._

_I could not as well,_ Thorn agreed. _Although, you may be underestimating her._

Murtagh pressed his lips together. _Perhaps._

Thorn looked at his Rider from the corner of his eye and lifted his head to place it beside him, just close enough that the air from his nose ruffled his Rider's clothes. _You worry too much, _bróðir_. _

Murtagh gave a soft chuckle and lifted a hand to fondly stroke Thorn's muzzle. _You are right about that._ They settled into a comfortable silence, Murtagh's ministrations bringing out a soft rumble from deep in Thorn's throat. _Thank you, Thorn. _

Thorn cracked open a sleepy eye. _For what?_

Murtagh shrugged, unsure how to describe the feeling moving around inside him. _Just thank you._

Thorn gave a quiet huff and closed his eye again. _I honestly do not know how you lived without me. _

Murtagh chuckled shortly, a shallow, listless smile pulling at his lips. "I never did."

Thorn didn't respond to that, instead choosing to move his nose closer to his Rider. They sat in relative silence for a short amount of time before continuing to fill the extended wait period with idle talk. It wasn't much longer until Murtagh saw Nasuada making her way across the field separating them from Ilirea. Anxious to get moving again, he went to greet her.

The young queen was dressed in horse riding trousers and heavy boots, her thick curly hair simply tied back at the nape of her neck. She didn't dress down often, but there was something really endearing about the way her hair bounced with every step she took. Murtagh's eyes lingered on her as she closed the distance between them, her lips lifting a bit.

"Impatient?"

"Anxious," Murtagh clarified. He cast a look behind her, just in case. "Are you ready?"

Nasuada shifted the bag he hadn't seen on her shoulder. "Yes."

He considered asking about what she brought but chose not to, instead turning to lead her back to Thorn. The dragon had his head up as they walked back, and he patiently waited for them to tie their belongings to the straps of his saddle. Nasuada allowed Murtagh to hoist her up into the saddle and settled in while Murtagh pulled himself up.

"Where to first, Rider?" she asked with a smile. Murtagh tried to return her smile, but it felt more forced than anything else. He distracted himself by strapping Nasuada's legs to the saddle.

"We've got a lot of flying ahead of us. We'll be spending the better part of the next two days in the air." Nasuada nodded, understanding. Casually, Thorn reminded him that she wasn't used to flying for as long as they were. He ignored the shame that flushed across his face for not realizing that sooner. "Of course, we'll stop often for some rest," he said quickly. "Flying can get disorienting for those unused to it."

"I'll be fine," Nasuada argued. "We flew from Gil'ead just fine in one day."

Murtagh didn't comment on the fact that she slept most of the way, and Thorn had purposefully flown at a lower altitude and a slower pace to keep her from getting overwhelmed. If it were just the two of them, the trip to the islands would take much less time, but Murtagh didn't want to push it. He didn't have many passengers in his time as a Rider.

Adjusting his seating, he slipped his arms around Nasuada to hold onto the front of the saddle. "Ready?" he asked in her ear.

It took her a brief moment to respond. "Y-yes."

He gave a little smile against her hair as Thorn bent low to prepare for launch. With a powerful thrust, they were in the air. The wind whipped Nasuada's hair around and her hands gripped one of Thorn's neck spikes with white knuckles, but the exuberant laugh that spilled from her lips was enough to lighten his darker spirits. Adjusting his arms around her as Thorn leveled out among the clouds, Murtagh settled into a comfortable position, and prepared for the long flight ahead.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

The flight the second time around wasn't nearly as exciting as the first one for Nasuada. The initial excitement still lingered, but as the chill air whipped against the delicate skin of her face and the rhythmic movement of Thorn's wingbeats pulled the feeling from her legs, she quickly grew tired. It was barely three hours past their take off when she finally gave into her better judgement and allowed herself to lean against Murtagh. In the cold, high-altitude air, he was a warm and comforting presence. He shifted behind her, his arms settling leisurely around her middle. She shivered a bit at the warmth.

"Cold?" he asked.

"A little," she responded. He leaned a little closer so the entirety of her back pressed against him. His gloved fingers pressed into her side. She gave a quiet sigh.

"How are you faring?" he asked. His breath was warm against the frozen skin of her neck.

"Fine," she lied. She really couldn't feel the toes in her boots any longer, but she planned to put that out of her mind. Regardless of her intentions, she realized from the uncomfortable drop in her stomach that they were starting to descend. Her frozen fingers whipped out to grasp the edge of the saddle. "Why are we going down?"

"We have made good enough distance to warrant a walking break," Murtagh said. "Keep our legs under us so that we don't forget how to use them."

Nasuada recognized that he was trying to make a joke, but the panic of their sudden drop in altitude kept her from laughing. Luckily, Thorn kept their descent even and she grew used to the falling action enough to relinquish her hold on the saddle. Murtagh calmly reminded her to breathe and she took several deep breaths as the clouds dissipated around them to reveal the lands below.

If there was one thing she could say she envied about a Rider, it was the unbelievable view they got of the world below them. They saw the lands in a whole different light; a light that very few non-Riders were fortunate enough to see. Nasuada took the moment to bask in the beauty of their land from the vantage point of the Gods. Far in the distance dancing along the edge of the horizon, she could see the peaks of the Spine. Just before them, shimmering waters reflected the light of the sun, spanning for several leagues along the edge of the plain lands and narrowing out on either end to a clear blue line. Trees of a nearby forest looked like a blanket of deep green, dotting along the lands like blades of grass. Not far from where they flew, a small collection of grayish buildings stood out against the open plains. What seemed like a few steps away from there, she saw a massive tower made of black stone and all to quickly, she realized where they were.

"Dras-Leona," she breathed. Without the spires of the cathedral, it was hard to recognize, but Helgrind was unmistakable. From all the stories Eragon had told her about the Ra'zac and the whole religion surrounding them, she couldn't look at the city the same anymore. A cold chill fell down her spine.

"We won't be here for long," Murtagh assured her as they grew closer to the haunting city.

Thorn caught a gust under his wings and gently turned them away from the unorganized collaboration of buildings, casting a light shadow over the city as they passed it. Instead, he drew up along Leona Lake, a distance away from the infamous city, his wingtips skating along the water as they landed along a sandy bank, flanked by trees. Even behind the cover of trees, Nasuada could still pick out the looming spires of Helgrind. She chose not to look at it.

Thorn trotted along the shore for a short while, stretched his wings a bit before carefully tucking them in against his sides. With a soft huff, he found a spot he liked and laid upon the ground. Murtagh removed his arms from around Nasuada's waist, and leaned over to quickly yank the straps loose from around her legs. Deftly, with the practiced ease of someone who did this often, he swung himself off of the dragon's back and landed solidly on his feet, seemingly unaffected by the long flight. He looked back up to where Nasuada was still seated and reached up to offer her assistance getting down. Briefly, she wondered if he knew that she couldn't feel either of her legs. Regardless, she pulled her leg over and allowed Murtagh to take her weight as he helped her off Thorn.

As he set her on her feet, she had to make a grab for his shoulders as her knees gave out from beneath her. Murtagh's arm whipped up to keep her from falling, his hand accidentally brushing along a strip of exposed skin along her waistline from where her shirt had ridden up. The bolt of electricity that shot through her was enough to get her feet working again. She pulled out of his reach and gave a small, uncomfortable smile at his confusion.

"I'm fine," she said, face flushed. She avoided his eyes, but Murtagh caught on quickly, his lips turning up in a smug smirk. Luckily, he chose not to comment on it as he stepped behind her to pull down a few of their belongings.

"Might as well eat something while we're here," he explained, yanking down the pack that had his provisions. "I'll get this ready while you stretch your legs. Just don't go too far."

She nodded, distractedly, awkwardly catching the look Thorn was giving them. Turning away, she looked out at the forest before them, where a soft breeze tossed the leaves of the tall trees as it passed by. It was a quiet and peaceful area. Surprising, considering where they were. She paced a few ways away from where they had landed, relishing in the tingling feeling of blood flowing through her feet. The branches cracked under her boots and leaves rustled as she dragged her feet across the ground. It had been ages since she had seen the forest so close up. There was something about the woodsy smell and the thick overcast of trees that brought her back to a time in her life when she could spare a few moments to appreciate the world for as beautiful as it was. She realized with a slow, saddened smile, that she hadn't appreciated it since before her father died. It seemed like lifetimes ago.

Taking a few, careful steps, Nasuada walked up to the thick trunk of an age-old tree, its bark peeling from the trunk with the turning of the seasons, the slightly yellowed leaves rustling in the wind. She looked up through the branches, wondering what turmoils the tree had lived through; how many harsh seasons, how many bloody battles. Her fingers traced along the edge of the tree, finding a haphazardly healed slice in the thick of the wood, remnants of a battle the tree had lived through. The new wood had curled into itself, growing and hiding the scar from the world. Nasuada stared at the break in the trunk, realizing that no matter how long or how big the tree grew, hidden deep beneath its bark, the scar would always remain.

Letting her fingers trail against the break in the tree, Nasuada cast a look from over her shoulder towards the pair she traveled with. Murtagh had settled into a sit against the red dragon's side, his provisions pack open with a loaf of bread in one hand and a knife in the other. He openly conversed with the dragon that curled around him, Thorn's head settled comfortably on the ground beside him. Once in a while, Murtagh would reach out to rub the scales along Thorn's nose and the dragon's eyes would close in contentment. Even from her spot across the opening, Nasuada saw the small smile that pulled at the Rider's lips.

It was like night and day.

She still remembered the dark look in Murtagh's eyes as he made the decision to leave her the day of Galbatorix's fall, and she still remembered the unbridled wildness and suspiciousness in Thorn as he was anxious to escape the city he saw as a prison to him and his Rider. So many years later, and she still remembered that pivotal moment in her life with such clarity that it scared her. They had been hurt- in so many more ways than she could have possibly imagined- and even to this day they still carried the scars of their past. Her eyes unintentionally trailed to the mottled end of Thorn's tail. Her fingers curled against the tree.

But things were different. Five years had changed them in more ways than she could have possibly anticipated. Yes, they had returned in a much less perfect state than what she had wished for them, but somewhere during their travels, they had found something that worked for them. A gentle peace that came during the softer moments of their lives. A companionship- a brotherhood- that blossomed in their freedom. With a lack of forced obligations and tense suspicions, Murtagh and Thorn had found themselves.

From across the clearing, Nasuada smiled. How lovely it was to finally see them happy in their short lives. She couldn't even begin to explain how happy it made her to know that after all the pain they experienced, some good was left for them in their lives. She was still watching when Murtagh's eyes met her own, his small smile widening just enough that she could see. He waved her over with the bread in his hand, inviting her to share his meal. Thorn's head lifted slightly in her direction, waiting for her to join them.

Her smile grew wider, the genuinely happy feeling in her heart growing larger, and as she moved toward them, her fingers fell from the bark of the wounded tree. Somehow, between moving forward and still waiting for the world to change, they had made the decision that Nasuada was privilege enough to join them in their small private world. For a pair so reluctant to open up for so long, Nasuada felt honored to be one of the few allowed into their minds. And as she walked across the clearing to join them, she couldn't be happier to be with them.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

The second time they took to the skies, the air was colder. They flew for hours until the sun danced along the horizon, painting the skies with brilliant oranges and purples as the dark night skies chased the colors beneath the edge of the world. Tiny dots of stars glittered in the wide sky, exposing the lands to the wide expanse of the space beyond the edges of the known world. So high in the sky, Nasuada had never seen the stars so close. Her chilled cheeks stung as she smiled and her breathy laugh came out in vapors.

"This is beautiful," she whispered. "I can see why you both enjoy traveling so much. If it were me in your shoes, I would not have returned to Ilirea."

Murtagh shifted slightly behind her, his own cold fingers finding hers along the edge of Thorn's saddle. His voice was small and distant when he spoke. "We had reason to return."

Her eyes traced along the spine of Thorn's neck, strangely unsettled by the note of longing in his voice. She knew they had reasons to return. He had said so many times before. But she didn't like the idea that they were forced to give up their hard-earned freedom to return to a land that still saw them so negatively.

_I think you are mistaken, älfrs hjarta-__véurr__._

Nasuada blinked in surprise, the ancient language catching her off guard. "Alfors-?"

"_Älfrs hjarta-__véurr_," Murtagh repeated softly, his breath warm against her ear. "It means 'his heart protector'."

The term of endearment made her heart flutter lightly, touched.

"H-How am I mistaken?" she asked the dragon, her cheeks warming in the cold air from the flattery of Thorn's words.

_Freedom is not defined by how far we fly or what lands we can escape_, Thorn told her. _Freedom is the choice we make to go where we please. Even though the Urgal curse forced our return to occur earlier than we anticipated, we still made the conscious choice, even before traveling to Anghelm_. _We always wished to return to you, älfrs hjarta-__véurr__. _A low rumble came from the dragon's chest, just below his riders' legs. _Our true happiness lies with you._

Nasuada sighed, a warm feeling blossoming thickly in her chest. Slipping her frozen fingers out from Murtagh's hand, she leaned over to touch Thorn's neck. The dragon's scales were warm in comparison to the cold air. It was comforting.

"You both are my happiness as well," she said quietly.

Thorn hummed in return, vibrations tingling her fingers. Murtagh shifted behind her, his arms coming up to embrace her around her middle. His arms were warm in the cold night air, comforting her in a way that touched her somewhere deep in her heart. Neither of them said anything as the night flew on around them, the stars twinkling brighter as the sun faded into the night.

Not a few moments later, Thorn announced to them both, _We have entered Surda_, and the feeling of lighthearted happiness that coursed through them all began to fade.

**A/N:** Thanks for reading! I would like to tell you guys that I have started the process of editing and rewriting the first couple chapters of this story. At the top of each chapter, I'll have an edit date, and that will indicated if I have hit it yet or not. The basic point of each chapter will be the same, but I thought I'd change the style of the early chapters to match the current style of the story. Feel free to go back and read if you so feel like it! :)


	20. Chapter 20

_Pömnuria Hjarta er medh Ono_

**A/N:** When was the last time I updated…? Sheesh. My updates are like rare birds. My apologies. I started this chapter on a napkin and even wrote down exactly what I wanted to happen and then I lost the napkin. So, I had to start over from scratch. That and I got distracted by the amazingness that was _Merlin_ over winter break. Anyway, I've been thinking through some of the plot a bit and making a few minor decisions about where I want this to go, so I can't say I haven't been entirely useless lately. (haha, what a joke) So, we'll be starting the main points of this arc in this very chapter, so I hope you'll like it! Thank you all for sticking around to read my story, and thank you to all of you willing enough to leave me a review. They are always so appreciated.

**Also**, I've gone back and edited a few earlier parts of the story (the ends of chapters 13 and 18). I decided that some of the pacing needed to be changed a bit (namely the kissing). So for the sake of dramatic suspense, I've gone back to change those moments into more platonic ones. Their "real" first kiss will come sometime in the future. Sorry for the abrupt switch! I just want this story to seem as believable as possible.

Much love for my lovely **Suma Susaki** in this chapter. Without her, you guys wouldn't even have it.

**Disclaimer:** Where is my brain? Obviously not thinking about my fanfiction that I've started over a year ago. Obviously I wouldn't have written the _Inheritance Cycle_ either, cause it wouldn't exist due to my lazy ass. Not mine.

ENJOY!

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There was something about the air in Surda that had Nasuada's hair standing on end. The night had a chill dancing among the breeze and had her clutching her cloak closer to her. Beside her, Murtagh had his face shrouded by his hood, his hand resting non-threateningly, but tensely upon the jeweled hilt of Zar'roc. She couldn't see his eyes from where she stood, but she knew he was ready to react to anything that crossed their paths. A cold wind tossed her hair about her face, covering her sight for a short moment. As she pulled her hair back, she noticed Murtagh tense beside her, his hand moving to close around the hilt of his sword. Her heart squeezed anxiously as she looked across the clearing where they stood. Four figures walked through the spaces of the trees like wraiths. Nasuada unconsciously reached for the blade she had strapped to her side. As they grew closer, the moonlight caught against their faces. Her anxiety lessened and she placed her hand on Murtagh's arm.

"It's them."

He didn't look at her, but his grip loosened upon his sword. The four men crossed the clearing between them and came to a stop, kneeling upon the forest floor in respect for the Queen. Nasuada gestured for them to stand.

"I cannot express how glad I am to see you, Garven," she voiced with a smile. The leader of the Nighthawks lifted his bowed head to meet her smile with a small one of his own.

"The feeling is mutual, my lady," he said, rising to a stand. "I apologize for having to meet you in such an inappropriate location, but it is the most that we can risk at the moment."

"I understand," she responded. "Proceed with your report."

Garven cast a suspicious glance at Murtagh, his jaw locking slightly. "My lady, forgive my impudence, but why does the red Rider accompany you?"

"Murtagh is a trusted ally and friend," she said firmly. Murtagh glanced at her from the corner of his eye. "He has proved himself tenfold to be worthy of my confidence. Whatever you must say to me, you will say to him as well."

Garven's suspicious look did not fade, despite his Queen's words, but he did not wish to speak up against her. He bowed his head slightly in understanding. "We have found the traitor amongst us, my lady. A trusted friend turned traitor," he spat. "We have detained him accordingly and he awaits your judgement."

Nasuada released a small sigh as a result of relief and anxiousness. "I will determine my judgement when I have seen him," she said. "Who is it?"

"Drayok Rasenthsson, my lady," Garven responded.

Nasuada closed her eyes, her disappointment as sharp as a knife. Drayok was barely out of his teenage years when he won himself a spot among her Nighthawks. He was born of common blood from the harbor city of Kuasta and won his way into her army by sheer will of determination and courage. She liked his tenacity and allowed him to train under Garven. She liked the boy as much as she knew Garven did. Even from where she stood, she could see the pain in his grey eyes.

"I see," she said softly. "Have you determined his motives behind this betrayal?"

Garven shook his head. "We taught him to protect his secrets well. We have not been able to pry it from him yet. In time, we will have your answers, my lady."

Nasuada nodded. "Thank you, Garven," she said. "Now, if you please, inform me of the situation here. Is it as dire as we had anticipated?"

Garven's expression was grim. "I'm afraid so, your majesty," he responded. "We tracked a band of rouge bandits through the southernmost part of Surda and we came to realize that nearly all of the villages we passed were deserted and desecrated. A result of raids. Dead or run off, we never saw a single soul. What's worse, we have word from our men in Aberon that King Orrin knows naught of the desecration plaguing his country. We have reason to believe that somebody is feeding him misinformation."

"That, or the fool is turning a blind eye to his kingdom in favor of his inconsequential experiments again," Nasuada sighed, a hint of annoyance coloring her tone. "Have you determined if the raids were a result of man?"

"Yes, my lady," Garven replied. "All the raids bore the signs of human weaponry and the footprints we found matched our own."

The Queen pressed her lips together. She didn't like what she was hearing. Even though she had been more than aware of the situation bubbling down in Surda for quite a few months, she hadn't anticipated such a travesty. Especially now that she knew of Orrin's ignorance to the circumstances in his kingdom and paired with the secret mission she set Garven and Elva on stirring in the Southern islands, Nasuada was having a hard time shaking the bad feeling stirring in the back of her mind. Looking into Garven's grey eyes, she knew he felt the same.

Shifting on his feet, Garven cleared his throat. "My lady, if I may speak freely." She nodded in consent. "I do not believe that this is the safest place for you, your majesty. It is far too dangerous to risk yourself by remaining in Surda. I humbly request that you return to Ilirea and allow us to finish out our mission."

Nasuada gave a thin smile, touched by his worry. "I appreciate your concern, Garven, but the best chance we have now is to bring Surda back under the control of Orrin. I must be the one to speak with him. I cannot risk exposing the Nighthawks. Even if that means I risk myself. He would not take lightly to our unannounced occupation of his territory."

Garven was not comforted by her words. "My lady…"

"I will not go alone," she continued. "I will have Murtagh. I doubt Orrin will challenge me with a Rider at my side."

Garven's eyes shifted warily to the Rider standing beside her. "My lady, I am not certain that is the best plan…"

Murtagh tensed slightly at his words, his hand balling into a fist. There was resistance there that she hadn't seen for a while, a deep hurt that colored the irises of his eyes. He met her gaze for merely a second before the shadows of his hood cloaked his expression from her. Briefly, her heart hurt for his plight, but she knew Garven's worries were not unfounded.

Nasuada sighed. "I realize this is dangerous, but I trust Murtagh with my life," she said firmly. "He had proved his worth to me time and time again, and I do not fear what danger may lie ahead with him by my side. I hope that in time, you will come to feel the same." She met the Nighthawk leader's eyes. "I know in time you will come to see him for the type of man he truly is." There was a long silence between them as she let that thought sink in. From the corner of her eye, she noticed Murtagh's shoulders relax a bit, their previous tension melting away. The vice grip around her heart loosened. "We will deal with however Orrin may react to our arrival at that time," she continued. "For now, I only wish to deal with what is at hand. Where are you housing Drayok?"

"Just outside of a village not far from here," Garven responded. "I've left him in the care of some of my most trusted men. We've assumed the guise of a traveling band of merchants just in case we met with Surdian patrol, but we've had fortunate luck thus far. Although, I suspect that has less to do with our luck and more to do with Orrin's lack of action."

"I'm afraid I'll have to agree with that," Nasuada said. "Lead the way. We shall follow you to your encampment."

Garven nodded, signaling to the men standing silently behind him to fan out. They quietly moved into the forest, disappearing into the trees. Garven faced his Queen again, nodding for her to follow.

They traveled silently through the dark forest, shadows of the chilly night playing between the spaces of the trees. Once or twice, Nasuada caught a glimpse of the Nighthawks following them at a distance, but they stayed mostly out of sight. Garven kept his pace, even as the forest terrain grew rougher to traverse easily. Murtagh slowed his stride to keep at Nasuada's side, wordlessly offering his hand to her when she needed assistance climbing down sharp ledges or over thick, fallen trees. She accepted his assistance easily, taking note of the distant expression in his eyes.

"Is everything alright?" she asked him quietly. She lifted a hand to place it gently against his arm, hoping to provide him comfort. He glanced at her, their eyes meeting for a short moment before he sighed reluctantly.

"You don't have to do that, Nasuada," he said. "I have long accepted that I would be faced with distrust on my return. They will not change their minds just because you defend my honor."

"I know," she responded softly. "But I cannot idly stand by and allow such suspicions to thrive." She looked at him. "You are not the man you once were, Murtagh. I want them to see that."

Murtagh looked up at her again, holding her gaze for a long moment. When his eyes fell away again, his lips held a ghost of a smile. "You worry too much for your own good."

Nasuada smiled in response. "Is Thorn okay?"

Murtagh took a moment to respond. "He's flying over head, keeping an eye out. He'll land later tonight when he deems it safe." He gave her a slight smirk. "You're still worrying."

"How can I not?" she asked softly. Murtagh's smirk faded slightly, his eyes taking on the same distant look she saw upon him earlier. His lips parted, preparing to speak.

"Pardon my interruption, my lady," Garven said from a few paces away. Murtagh locked his jaw, visibly leaning away from her. Nasuada took a step back, tucking a lose curl behind her ear. Garven waited with an obvious uncomfortable look for her to respond. She quickly gestured for him to speak. "The encampment is just over this ridge near the edge of the tree line," he explained.

"Yes, thank you, Garven," Nasuada responded. "Lead the way."

Garven gave a short nod before heading off again. They followed him in silence for a few paces more before the thick forest gave away to a small clearing just inside of the forest's edge. Situated in a semi-circle facing the openings of the trees, three carts filled with bags of flour, various fruits and items of clothing guarded the decent sized campfire. One cart was big enough for a small room and had a door that closed away its cargo from prying eyes. Two men sat upon its steps, heartily feasting on the meal their group had prepared that night. Three more men stood around the fire, stoking the flames and stirring the pot simmering just above it. The scent of roasted potatoes and stewed meats permeated the air. Nasuada's mouth watered at the hearty scent and her stomach rumbled with a hunger she did not realize she had. The three silent followers that traveled with them came from between the trees, greeting their friends and joining in upon the feast. As they entered the encampment, the various Nighthawks greeted Nasuada with appropriate respect. She responded in like, requesting that they continue to enjoy their dinner as they were. They accepted with a few laughs and suspicious glances toward her companion. She frowned to herself, trying not to make an issue out of it again.

"Please, my lady," Garven said as they approached the pot of stew. "Have something to eat."

"Thank you, Garven," she said, taking the bowl of stew offered to her. She watched as the Nighthawks leader silently filled a second bowl for Murtagh before handing it to him. The Rider took it with a quiet thank you. They both found comfortable seats around the fire, joining the other Nighthawks gathered for the meal.

"I must say, I am rather impressed by what you have managed to pull together," Nasuada said, looking around the camp. "Is the traveling merchant guise working well?"

"Well enough," Garven responded, dipping himself a bowl of stew. "Some of the men have taken well to the life of the merchant. Right, Gwaine?" The man in question laughed lightly and retaliated the teasing nudges aimed toward him.

"What?" he asked. "I have a knack for bartering. Scored us a number of decent spoils if I might add." The men around the fire let out murmurs of agreement.

Nasuada smiled. "I am pleased to hear that." She ate a spoonful of her stew. The robust flavors light up her tastebuds and after a couple days of nothing but bread and what little cheese Murtagh carried with him, the stew tasted better than anything she had tasted before. "My god," she exclaimed softly, pressing a hand against her full mouth. "This is delectable. What is in this?"

"Potatoes, tomatoes, a few herbs and spices and meat," one of the men responded, stirring the pot proudly.

"What is this meat?" Nasuada asked, eating a second hearty bite. "It's succulently cooked."

The man at the pot uncomfortably glanced at Garven. "Are you sure you want to know, your majesty?"

"Of course," she said, her eyebrows drawing together.

"Well… it's rat, my lady."

Nasuada's hand stilled as she went for a third bite.

"We were uncertain what we wanted to cook up and had settled on potato stew for the evening but some of the men out on patrol brought back a couple of rats they had seen in the forest. We were reluctant at first, but meat is meat and I don't think it turned out too terrible, do you?" The men gave a chorus of approval to their cook's words. "It makes for a good meal, if you ask me. Very filling."

"I'm sure," Nasuada said, carefully replacing her spoon in the bowl, her appetite dissipating. From the corner of her eye, she caught Murtagh's amused grin as he ate his own stew. She tried not to roll her eyes. "I am curious, Garven," she said, deftly changing the subject. "Where exactly are you keeping Drayok?"

Garven gestured to the enclosed cart where the two men continued to converse on the stairs beside the door. "We have him bound and keep him under close eye at all times. We still don't know what secrets he has let escape with his loose lips. But we are certain he is not spreading his treason for now."

"Good," she said. "After dinner, I would like to speak with him."

Garven acknowledged her before digging into his stew. Some of the men he sat beside began talking to him, leaving Nasuada and Murtagh to themselves. The Queen gave a quiet sigh, uncertainly twisting the spoon in her stew. She was more than hungry, but the idea of eating something so… _repulsive_ made her stomach churn. Murtagh eyed her from the corner of his eye, swallowing his mouthful before leaning slightly over to her.

"You should eat. We both know you haven't had a decent meal in a few days," he said quietly.

"I'd hardly consider this a decent meal," she responded in like.

"It's cooked meat and warm broth. Men have survived on less," Murtagh pointed out. "This is a meal of the kings to travelers."

"Rat?" she repeated in disbelief. Murtagh nodded.

"At least its a recognizable meat," he said taking a bite of his stew. "There were days where there was no meat for days and I'd have to make due with eating large bugs. Sometimes spiders."

Her jaw dropped unconsciously. "Spiders?"

He shrugged causally. "They're crunchier than you would expect."

Nasuada's stomach turned uncomfortably. "Why would you even consider eating that?"

"When you're starving, you'll eat almost anything to appease your hunger," he stated. He said it so casually, like it was a known fact and nothing to be lingered upon. But his words caught in Nasuada's mind and all she could do was stare at him, realization dawning upon her that he had long forgotten what it was like to be picky with food. Shame flushed through her face and she scrambled to save face.

"Murtagh, I didn't mean-"

"I know what you meant," he said calmly, giving her a slight smile. "I am merely glad you do not have to experience such hardships." She frowned, still feeling guilty. He nudged her lightly, tapping her untouched bowl with his spoon. "Eat. Your next good meal could still be days away."

She nodded, putting aside her reservations about _what_ she was eating and just enjoyed the stew. The flavors were just as robust as the first bite and she quickly forgot what exactly she was eating in favor of devouring the rest of the meal. Murtagh gave her a small smile and continued to finish off his own. Once or twice, she glanced up to see some of the Nighthawks watching them with interested expressions, Garven's slightly less stoic than normal. She recognized the lack of tension in their postures, an easy relaxation coming over the group. Her Nighthawks were well-trained in the art of reading people- she was sure of that- and despite the suspicions they held against the red Rider, she was pleased to see that their small exchange about their meal was enough to give them insight on how Murtagh truly acted. She hid her pleased smile behind the brim of her bowl.

They ate heartily, even requesting seconds, before they were satisfied with their meal. Nasuada felt relaxed, despite the stressful encounter she was sure to have with their resident traitor. Placing her empty bowl beside the others, she met Garven's eyes from across the fire. He nodded only once, understanding what she needed. They stood as one, Garven leading the way to the enclosed merchant cart nearby where Drayok was being held. The two men leisurely sitting on the steps got to their feet as they approached, greeting their Queen with appropriate bows. She waved them off gently as Garven unbolted the door.

A lone flickering candle stood just inside the doorway, casting eerie dancing shadows along the walls. The light barely illuminated the disheveled young man tied to the far wall, the shadows deepening the lines of his eyes and the sharpness of his face. As Nasuada stepped into the cart, he looked up, hollowed brown eyes casting an indifferent once-over upon her. He recognized her after a moment, his hollow expression shifting to one of mute surprise before melting to a sneer. He lifted his sunken shoulders to make himself seem more formidable than he actually was.

"What a surprise," he scoffed. "The _Queen_ came all the way here to deal with me herself." He glanced at Garven who was half-shrouded by the Queen's silhouette. "What, not man enough to beat the information out of me anymore, Garven?"

Nasuada eyed the young man before her, unsettled by the dramatic difference between this man and the starry-eyed boy she had taken into ranks a few years before. Her expression turned to pity, despite the glare he sent her way. "What has happened to you, Drayok?" she whispered.

"Happened?" he repeated, a sharp bark of humorless laughter splitting from his lips. "What _hasn't_ happened to me, my lady?"

He met her eyes with anger, a deep-set anger that boiled from a place very unknown to her. She felt an uncomfortable twinge of fear in her belly that she covered easily with the mask of indifferent authority she developed after being Queen for five years. Drayok's face had twisted to something unrecognizable, an anger so furious it burned through him and made ugly his face.

"What do you know of pain?" he hissed. "You know naught of the life I have lived. How many years I lived in _agony_ because everything I loved was stripped from me in a single moment?" He struggled against his bonds. "You and that horrible Rider took everything from me! _Everything_!"

Nasuada closed her eyes, her heart twisting in her chest. The story of yet another soul damaged by the fall of Galbatorix. She had hoped that her peaceful rule could help such people recover and move on, but there were always a few that lingered in their grief and hate and allowed their emotions to blind them from the path of recovery. A part of her was angry that she had not seen this in the boy before and allowed him to get so close and share her secrets, but mostly, she felt sad. Sad that, even so close to her, she could not bring the boy to reason, only twisting his guilt and anger deeper until he turned into the vengeance-driven man he was now. Drayok continued to scream at her, spouting off insults worthy of multiple beheadings. Garven twitched beside her, infuriated that the boy he had trained over the years could be so disrespectful of the Queen. She had seen the guilt in him before, and his reaction to Drayok insulting her confirmed it.

"How _dare_ you speak to the Queen that way," he hissed, moving to strike the young man. Nasuada merely lifted her hand, halting the leader of the Nighthawks in his tracks.

"No, Garven," she said softly. "We are done here."

She gave Drayok one last look as he writhed against his restraints, shouting at her, before turning away to exit the cart. Murtagh stood at the foot of the stairs, his lips drawn into a deep frown and his arms crossed tensely. The other Nighthawks in the encampment were quiet, watching the Queen exit the merchant's cart and Garven slam the door behind him with barely withheld fury. Nasuada's eyes looked toward her feet as she stepped off the stairs beside Murtagh, unnamed emotions stirring within her.

The Rider leaned toward her so she could hear him speak softly under his voice. "Do not blame yourself for his anger. You are not at fault, Nasuada."

She closed her eyes, taking his words to heart with a deep breath before steeling herself back into the authoritative, unshaken Queen she was. She faced the Nighthawks with solid shoulders.

"As you all are aware, there is no doubt that Drayok is the traitor," she said. "For the time being, he will remain in your care until the issues in Surda are resolved and we return to Ilirea."

Garven shifted uncomfortably behind her. "My lady, I do not wish to question your judgement," he said softly. "But is it a wise idea to let him live?"

Her heart sunk at the thought of Drayok dying. He was a direct result of their actions against Galbatorix and how the people she ruled over still harbored ill-will towards her. She couldn't get the image of a young boy looking forward to a bright future out of her head. She felt as though she had wronged him, even after she was given the chance to erase his vengeful past and replace it with a peaceful future. A part of her knew she had failed, and that part, along with the part that still pitied him, kept her from making the decision to kill him.

"He's still hiding something," she said instead. "If we kill him now, we may continue to walk these lands in ignorance of what befalls it." She met the eyes of Garven. "Until then, he shall live."

Garven held her gaze for a long while, searching for the softer side that swayed her decision. She kept his eyes unflinchingly, determined to stand by her ruling with a conviction she wasn't sure she had. Soon, his eyes fell away and he gave a quiet sigh.

"Yes, my Queen."

She nodded, letting a small internal sigh of relief pass through her. The other Nighthawks didn't linger on her decision for long, turning back to what they had done before. Garven continued to display signs that he disagreed with her decision, but said nothing, turning to tend to the few horses they had instead. That left only the two cart guards, her and Murtagh, and as she turned to look up at the red Rider, she knew that even though she had convinced the Nighthawks of her half-truth motives, she had not fooled him.

She avoided his knowing look. She knew in her heart that she had made the right decision, but a part of her still questioned if it was the right decision for Alagaësia. For now, she could only hope that it was.


	21. Chapter 21

_Pömnuria Hjarta er medh Ono_

**A/N:** I'm going to be incredibly brief here: To all of you who have waited for this update, this is for you, and it's because of all of you that I have decided to pick this story back up again. You guys deserve an ending to this story, and that's what I'm going to give you.

I'd once again like to thank my co-author for reminding me of all the little details of this story and the characterizations of the actual characters from the book when I have forgotten them. Without **Suma Susaki**, I'd be lost.

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The sun had barely started to shed its orange rays of light upon the early morning in Surda when the Nighthawks began to move. They rose with a purpose, packing up camp with a swift and practiced ease, erasing all traces of their time there the night before. If Nasuada had managed to get any sleep the night before, she might have protested the noise at such an early hour, but she was unfortunately wide awake when one of the Nighthawks handed her a bowl of cold stew and a slice of bread for breakfast. She ate the slightly unappetizing meal in silence, realizing after a moment of watching people moving about that Murtagh was nowhere to be seen. Flagging down a passing Nighthawk, she asked where he was.

"He left before dawn to meet his dragon," the man said, gesturing towards a break in the trees. Just in the distance, she could make out the form of the red dragon, laid out in the field near the trees. She thanked the man and let him go on with his duties as she stood from her spot to go meet him, leaving her meager breakfast behind.

She made her way through the trees and approached them casually, taking in Murtagh's relaxed, meditative positing beside his dragon. He didn't move, even as she drew close. Thorn lifted his head in greeting instead.

_Good morning, __hjarta-__véurr__, _he said, giving her brow an affectionate sniff. She smiled and lifted her hands to gently scratch the scales along his chin. He closed his eyes with a low, contented rumble, enjoying her touch. When she looked at Murtagh again, his eyes were open, watching the two of them.

"Good morning," she greeted, continuing to scratch Thorn's scales, enjoying the pleased sounds coming from his throat. "You two certainly get up early in the mornings."

"Force of habit," he responded in a soft voice. "But not one that I believe you share." Nasuada's fingers paused against Thorn's scales as Murtagh looked at her. "Your eyes are red."

She gave a quiet sigh, looking away. "It's nothing."

Murtagh's lips pressed into a line, but he didn't question her on it. Instead, he gestured to the spot beside him. "Join us."

She gave him a small smile and let her fingers slip away from Thorn's chin, to his palpable dismay, and sat beside Murtagh. He subtly leaned in closer to her so that their knees and shoulders were touching just slightly. She felt her cheeks grow a little warm from the natural gesture, and she allowed herself to slightly lean back. She felt warm and protected, especially when Thorn's head came to rest right beside them, and she could practically feel the stress of a sleepless night slipping away.

"Tell me about it," he said softly.

"About what…?" she asked uncertainly.

"Why you didn't sleep last night," he clarified. She felt a small curl of nervousness in her stomach that he had noticed, but his expression was calm when she looked at him. She realized when she saw the same patient look in Thorn's eye that this was something they had done for _years_. Murtagh mentioned once before that in the five years they had been gone, aside from traveling and exploring, the one thing that they did the most was talk. Talk about what hurt them, what still haunted their dreams, what kept them awake at night. She realized as she sat between the comforting embrace of a dragon and his Rider, that they were sharing this very intimate part of themselves with her. Helping her in a way that only they knew best.

She gave a quiet breath and closed her eyes. "I'm worried."

"About?"

"Being wrong," she admitted softly. "There are so many delicate pieces surrounding everything that has happened thus far in Surda. I _know_ they're all connected in some way, but I have to be careful. One wrong move could have the direst of consequences, and it would all be my fault." She tried to rub the goosebumps from the skin of her arm. "I'm afraid of that."

_Your fear makes you strong, _Thorn said. _But you are letting it control you. You led the Varden into battle against Galbatorix once and succeeded, and you will do so again with the Nighthawks. You are far more formidable than you give yourself credit, __hjarta-__véurr__. _

"Perhaps," she said quietly. "But I do not feel like I am capable. Fighting Galbatorix was one thing… Keeping the balance of power in a peaceful world is another. I cannot just march my armies into the South to solve a problem anymore. These things must be handled with the utmost delicacy."

"Then what are you missing?" Murtagh asked. "What is there left to do to tip the balance in your favor?"

Nasuada pursed her lips, giving his words thought. What else _could_ she do? She knew that she had to protect her Nighthawks. Word could not get out that they were secretly occupying Surda. But at the same time, the issues in the South were starting to sound worse by the day and if nothing was done about it, there was a chance that it would develop into something much, _much_ worse. But she was a monarch, not a fighter, and there was only so much she could do. Unless…

"I need to speak to Orrin," she said. "If he's being deceived by somebody then we must know. That way we can shed a little light on the situation to get the recovery process underway. If we're going to tackle this issue headfirst, then he must be in the know."

Murtagh gave her a small smile and lightly bumped his shoulder against hers. "There's the Queen I know," he said. She let her lips turn up in a flattered smile of her own, her heart warming slightly. "Sounds like we have a plan, Thorn. You ready to fly?"

_Always,_ the dragon responded, shifting behind them in anticipation as he lifted his head to taste the air. _My wings itch to feel the air beneath them once again._

"You and I both," Murtagh agreed, turning to look at Nasuada again. "Join us?"

She smiled. "Always."

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Leaving the Nighthawks that morning had been relatively simple. Nasuada told Garven alone where they intended to go, leaving him in charge with the protection of the troop. He explained to her his intention to lead them back to the South to resume their undercover patrol and reiterated his intention to resist getting involved with anything until Nasuada gave them the go ahead. He relayed a few more things to Nasuada in a hushed whisper that Murtagh had not caught before giving her a short, respectful bow and leaving to rejoin his troop. Nasuada's face looked a little more troubled than it had before but she relaxed some when they were seated on Thorn's back and climbing high into the sky. Her exhaustion eventually caught up with her and while she slept soundly against Murtagh's chest, Thorn was sure to make up for lost time by flying double the speed they had up until then. They were able to reach Aberon within half a day and before he knew it, he was following Nasuada through the castle walls, headed straight for Orrin himself.

Nasuada strode with a purpose, shoulders set, chin lifted and her gait strong. Murtagh had to walk faster to keep up with her, his eyes uncomfortably following after her as she made her way through Orrin's castle like it was her own. She absolutely extruded the presence of a queen, commanding and in control, even in a place that wasn't her own. If he was being honest with himself, Murtagh was impressed. He knew from experience how intimidating she could be when she wanted to be, but this was something else entirely. He would have hated to be Orrin in that moment.

They entered what looked to be a leisure room without being announced, startling the maids that were exiting. One of them recognized Nasuada and yelped a surprised "Your Majesty!" drawing the attention of the rest of the people in the room. From a table by the windows, Orrin's eyes went wide, the chess piece in his hand falling from his fingers as his opponent leapt to his feet to bow to the Queen as she approached.

"Nasuada," Orrin said in a breath of surprise. There was something about the familiar way he said her name that struck Murtagh wrong. He narrowed his eyes as the other man looked over at him, stumbling to his feet when he finally realized who he was looking at. "What is the meaning of this?" he demanded. "Why is _he_ here?"

"That is of no importance," Nasauda said flatly, stepping between them to bring attention back to her. "I have come to discuss the request you made regarding the issues of missing trade from your ports."

Orrin sputtered. "No importance? Nasuada, have you forgotten that this man tried to _kill_ us?"

Murtagh said nothing, but Nasuada bristled. "I will not stand here and be berated like a child. I am _aware_ of the atrocities he has committed in the past, but I would not willingly allow him to be my traveling companion if I did not trust him."

Orrin pressed his lips together, narrowing his eyes at the Dragon Rider. "You may trust him, but I do not."

"Fair enough," Nasuada said shortly, crossing her arms. "But if you want me to aide you with the unrest in your country, you will leave my Rider out of this."

The tension in the air was thick enough to be cut with a knife. Murtagh smartly said nothing, but carefully watched the way Orrin worked through his thoughts, his eyes lingering on Nasuada the whole time. The Queen remained stern and unrelenting, and eventually the King of Surda sighed, his shoulders slumping some.

"I have never been able to fight your fiery nature, Nas," he said with a crooked smile. "I'll get a table brought out to the balcony above the gardens so that we can discuss our matters in private." He sent Murtagh a pointed look that clearly said that he was not invited. It took all that the Rider had not to wipe the look off his face with a right hook to the eye.

Nasuada smiled. "Thank you for understanding."

"Of course," Orrin said in return, placing a hand atop her shoulder in a way that Murtagh _knew_ wasn't purely comforting. And if he thought he could talk to Nasuada in private after _that_ kind of display, he had another thing coming.

But that was going to have to wait, as Murtagh was left leaning against the wall beside the closed glass doors to the balcony, steaming in his own irritation. He knew _why_ he wasn't necessarily allowed to go in. It was about political matters and Nasuada had already told him once that things were delicate with all the things going on in Surda, but logic aside, he was ready to deck the smug ruler of the southern country. Murtagh knew virtually nothing about him aside from what Nasuada had told him, but his first impression of him, so far, was not a good one.

Through the slight crack in the door, he could just make out their voices, talking in what seemed to be a casual manner. He eyed the maid who passed by him, watching as she brought a tray of tea cakes out to the two monarchs. From this angle, he could see them sitting at a table, Nasuada politely sipping at her tea and Orrin leaning towards her from across the table. Something about the way he looked at her rubbed Murtagh the wrong way, like there was a hidden agenda behind his smile and sugared words.

"I apologize for not being more up to date with the issues plaguing your country," Nasauda was saying. "The recent Urgal Games have been on the forefront of my mind for various reasons. It's a shame you missed them this year."

"Yes, a shame indeed," Orrin said offhandedly, reaching over to take a tea cake from the silver platter. "Give these cakes a try. They are a truly delectable masterpiece. You will never taste anything better in your life."

Nasuada's voice was a little strained when she responded. "Ah, no thank you. I am not hungry at the moment."

"Not hungry?" he echoed, aghast. "You've been traveling for days. I can only imagine that you would be starving. Please. Eat."

She gave a quiet sigh and took a few moments to try one of the cakes. "Yes… They are quite delicious. Now, if we could get back to the topic at hand-"

Orrin gave a sigh and leaned back in his chair. "Nasuada, Nasuada. Always the one to put politics over pleasure," he said. "But if you insist, my lady, I'm afraid I have nothing to tell you. The ports have been doing nothing but thriving as of late."

"How could that be?" Nasauda asked in surprise. "I just received your letter requesting assistance with this issue less than a month ago."

Orrin shrugged. "Then it is simply out of date. I assure you that the piracy issue has been dealt with."

Murtagh pressed his lips together. As far as he understood, the Nighthawks were convinced that the issue in the South had only worsened with time. It was no longer only a "piracy issue" when there was plundering and villages being burned to the ground. But in contrast to what he had originally thought, Orrin didn't sound like he was lying; he was merely relaying the information he knew. And that might have been the most dangerous truth regarding the whole situation.

Nasuada must have figured the same thing, for her response was measured: "Then, if it's not too much to ask, could I ask how it was settled?"

"Simply," Orrin said, taking a sip of his tea. "I sent some of my men to investigate the issue shortly after I had my scribe send the message to you, and a week later, they returned with the good news. The pirates had been keeping fort on Beirland, just behind the Boar's Eye. It was foolish of them to think that they could hide behind the whirlpool. We Surdians have grown up knowing how to navigate such a thing." He gave a small prideful snort before continuing. "But anyway, the issue was handled swiftly and without blood, therefore it is unnecessary to continue speaking about it."

Murtagh snorted slightly to himself. _It was a mistake to not ensure that the issue was handled himself. His blind trust in his advisors has made a fool out of him._

"But enough about that," Orrin continued, leaning forward toward Nasuada again. "I am curious. Have you given my offer any thought?"

"Ah, I'm sorry, which offer was that again?" the Queen asked.

Orrin frowned. "My proposal."

Murtagh felt a rock sink uncomfortably in the pit of his stomach.

"I know we have discussed this many times before," Orrin continued. "But a political marriage would solve many of our issues and bring a strong ruling hand to the people of Alagaësia. Your council members have suggested the idea again to me recently, and with the recent assassination attempts on your life and the remaining supporters of Galbatorix still out there, perhaps a king by your side will secure your position as High Ruler." He leaned forward to take Nasuada's hands into his own. "Nas, I know you do not love me, but think about it. Would you rather rule with men trying to snatch your power from you at all turns, or rule side-by-side with a friend that will support you?"

Nasuada hesitated to respond. In the few seconds of silence, Murtagh felt like a knife had stabbed him straight in the chest, constricting his lungs so hard he could hardly breathe. Had he really not thought of this? Nasuada was a queen, and he was nothing more than a scorned Rider from the dark ages. To think their relationship could develop to anything more than a secret romance was nothing but a dream. He had been such a fool.

"I-I'm sorry…" he distantly heard Nasuada say. "Please give me time to consider it."

"Of course," Orrin agreed, and they went back to speaking of less heavy things, but Murtagh had already heard enough.

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Nasuada knew something was wrong relatively quickly, and she didn't have to ask him to know why. Murtagh had practically been her shadow the entire time they had been in Orrin's castle, both for his own reasons and because she wanted him around, and she knew him well enough to know that a mere glass door was not going to be enough to shield him from what was said between her and Orrin. He had hardly spoken a word since their talk on the balcony and he said absolutely nothing all through dinner. It wasn't until they were shown their rooms for the night that Nasuada finally called out to him.

"Murtagh, wait."

He paused with his hand still on the open door to the room that had been assigned his. His mouth was set in a thin line and his eyes were reluctant as he looked over at her. She felt something in her chest twinge uncomfortably as she stepped forward.

"Can we talk?"

His words were short when he responded. "There is nothing to talk about."

She frowned. "Don't do this. Please."

He dropped his gaze, looking into his rooms uncertainly before sighing lightly. "Fine."

She thanked him quietly before stepping into his room. The door closed with a thump behind them and they were left in silence for a heartbeat or two. His room was small at best with nothing more than a made up bed, a dresser and a window that looked over the defensive walls of Aberon. Nasuada looked out that window for a short while, looking for Thorn along the horizon, before she turned to look at Murtagh again. He stood uncomfortably by the door, his shoulders stiff and his expression guarded. She waited for him to speak and eventually, he did.

"It was generous of him to offer everything you needed in his marriage proposal," he said shortly, his jaw locking after the words were said.

She felt a sinking feeling in her stomach and she closed her eyes. "Murtagh… It's not what you think."

"It's not?" he asked. "Because to me, it sounded like he was naming off everything that you needed to solidify your rule over the people of Alagaësia and finally unite Surda with the Empire." His eyes lifted to finally look at her, distant and haunting, and he gave her a half-hearted smirk. "At least, agreeing to his proposal would give you the chance you need to send in your troops to the South."

She stared at him, unsure how to process his words. At first, she thought he was being sarcastic. But the longer she looked at him, taking in the thinly veiled hurt and defeat in his eyes, she realized he was telling the truth. Suddenly, she didn't feel so sympathetic anymore. Fury like none other bubbled in her chest and she gave a single angry huff as she turned a glare on him.

"I cannot believe we are even discussing this right now," she said. "I am _not _going to marry Orrin."

"You need his power, Nasuada," Murtagh said quietly. "To refuse would be a mistake."

"To agree would _also_ be one!" she snapped back. She felt her lower lip quiver slightly, and she pressed her lips together to push away the panic that started to rise within her. In a low, controlled voice she asked, "Why are you saying this?"

He didn't look at her. His response was barely louder than a single breath. "I cannot give you what you need."

She felt her heart clench tightly at the broken undertone to his voice. She lifted a hand to her chest, twisting her fingers in the fabric of her shirt to try and alleviate it.

"Then don't," she said boldly. His eyes lifted silently to look at her. She could feel her heart beating painfully through her chest, every breath she took just as shaky as her fingers were. "Just give me what I want."

His response was slow and whispered. "What do you want…?"

"You," she said, letting the word linger in the air. "Just you."

An array of emotions flashed across Murtagh's face all at once: surprise, joy, disappointment, relief. She watched the emotions flush through him, his breath hitching slightly as he squeezed his eyes closed. Lifting his head, he gave her one of the most honest expressions she had ever seen him make: pure, unadulterated happiness. His face scrunched for a moment, like he might cry, and he pushed himself away from the wall to close the distance between them. She felt her heart twist in empathy for him as he embraced her tightly, and she held him just as close.

"I love you," she heard him say through a thick throat. It was raw but truthful, and it was the emotion behind it that really spoke volumes. He released her only a little so that he could see her eyes, his hands moving from her shoulders to gently cradle her face. "I will always love you, _iet hjarta_."

She smiled, lifting a hand to touch his. "I know."

He let his eyes remain on her face for a moment longer, drinking her in, before he leaned in to kiss her. It was soft and warm, well-rounded with emotion and lingering with the promise of more. Nasuada felt herself sinking into the feeling, memorizing the touch of his lips and the taste of their love. They both knew that they couldn't run from the reality that still waited for them, but in that moment, the problems of the rest of the world felt so far away, like nothing more than an evanescent dream. And as their lips met again and again under the cover of darkness, they allowed it to fade away.

Just that once.

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_hjarta-__véurr:_ heart protector

_iet hjarta:_ my heart (informal)


	22. Chapter 22

_Pömnuria Hjarta er Medh Ono_

**A/N:** Hello again, dear friends! I'd like to thank you all for reading my update and sending me kind reviews of encouragement. They have all lifted my spirits considerably. I'm thrilled to let you guys know that I have gone ahead and planned out the rest of this story in detail, and including this chapter, there is only 4 more chapters and an epilogue left! We're so close to the end, but believe me when I say it will be quite a ride. So, sit back, relax, and as always, ENJOY!  
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Murtagh woke early, like he always did, his tired mind reaching out habitually for Thorn. The dragon was still sleeping, but stirred slightly at his Rider's familiar touch. Murtagh decided it was probably better to just let him sleep and retracted his mind slightly before opening his eyes. The ceiling was unfamiliar to him, but then again, he had not really known a familiar one in a very long time. His body felt a little stiff, his left arm completely asleep, and when he went to move his muscles, he felt someone shift beside him in the bed. His heart stilled slightly in his chest, but calmed when he saw Nasuada curled up beside him. It only took his tired mind a few moments to recall all that happened the night before.

Kissing her had been everything he hoped it would be. For someone so strong-willed and stubborn, Nasuada wore her heart on her sleeve and he could practically taste her love through every gentle kiss she met him with. She fell asleep with him that night, her fingers twisted through his, and he watched her sleep, unable to let that moment slip away from him like every other good dream he had ever had. But as he watched her in the glow of the early morning, her eyelids fluttering and her mouth slightly parted, he felt something deep in his chest warm. It shorted his breath and made his ribs feel tight, but it was a beautiful sort of pain; the kind of pain that only came from being indescribably happy.

He let the feeling wash over him as he reached out to brush the curls away from her face, his fingers lingering on the contours of her cheek. She shifted slightly, her fingers twisting protectively into his rumpled tunic just a little tighter before she blearily opened her eyes. She blinked slowly, her tired mind slow to catch up with the world. He watched silently as she looked up at him, a tired but warm smile lifting at her lips.

"Good morning," she mumbled.

His heart warmed even more and he leaned forward to kiss her gently on the forehead. "Good morning."

She closed her eyes, peacefully content. "What time is it?"

"Early. Just after dawn," he answered softly. She hummed in response and curled in closer to him, silently enjoying the moment between them. Murtagh shifted so that he could curl his arm around her shoulders, holding her close.

"I like this," she murmured. Her breath was warm against his skin, soft and rhythmic. "It's peaceful."

He hummed lightly against her hair, absentmindedly threading his finger through the dark locks. "I wish we had more time to enjoy it."

She said nothing, but he could tell that his words had caught her attention. She eventually gave a quiet sigh before leaning back to look up at his face. "We will have our time," she said with a firmness of voice he was not expecting. "But first we must finish that which we have started."

He looked at her for a short moment, taking in her contemplating expression. "Where do we go from here?"

"Forward," she responded. "I must talk with Orrin. He cannot continue to be blind to the issues going on in the South. But we must be careful about how we approach this topic. We cannot reveal that the Nighthawks are here. We need to figure out another way."

Murtagh gave her words a little thought, and was surprised when Thorn's voice chimed in. _He seems particularly trustful of his advisors despite them feeding him misinformation_.

"That's because he would rather not involve himself in politics if he could avoid it," Nasuada said. "Although… that does bring up a good point. If I can prove to him that his advisors are corrupt, then we could shed light on the issue without exposing the Nighthawks. The only problem is how…"

_I could always threaten them_, Thorn said. _All men are truthful when faced with the fangs of a dragon._

"That wouldn't work and you know it," Murtagh sighed. "It has to look like something believable, not something we orchestrated. He wouldn't trust a word we say if you threaten to bite their heads off."

_Things like politics would be handled much faster if dragons were in control_, Thorn grumbled. _All who oppose us would be eaten on the spot._

_And that is exactly why they are not_, Murtagh said back. _You would have no subjects left to rule._

"I think I have an idea," Nasuada said. "But it may be a little risky." She looked up at Murtagh and lightly touched his cheek. "Will you help me with this?"

He took her hand into his and turned it so that he could place a warm kiss against her palm. "Always."

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When Nasuada said that her plan was risky, she conveniently left out that it would also be a lot of waiting. She explained that the Nighthawks had inserted an undercover member somewhere into the castle to gather information on the possible corruption among the ranks of Orrin's court. She wasn't sure who it was, but they had been instructed to inform whichever person in charge who came to the castle of all the information and situations they had learned in their time there. Before they had left the Nighthawk encampment, Garven had been specific to tell her the location that the informant would meet them if they chose to indulge in their information. In order to lower suspicions, Nasuada left Murtagh to meet the informant while she continued to visit with Orrin. While he trusted her judgment, Murtagh couldn't help but feel uneasy about leaving her by herself. And it certainly didn't help that he had been waiting in the small storage room for nearly three hours.

_I dislike it_, Thorn was saying. _He acts like an over-spoiled hatchling._

Murtagh absentmindedly moved a crate with his foot, twisting a piece of hay until it unraveled between his fingers. _Neither do I,_ he agreed. _But we have no choice but to tolerate him. The quicker we expose his corrupt advisors, the quicker we can be out of here and flying south._

Thorn was a little quieter when he spoke next. _Do you think the Spring will work?_

_I don't know_, Murtagh said honestly. _But it's the best lead we have. _The crate he had been kicking finally went off balance and fell to the floor. At the loud thump, Murtagh went to stand, pacing around the room. _Where is this informant? I have better things to do with my time than waiting idly for something to happen_.

_Impatience will be the death of you_, Thorn said.

_Don't chastise me_, Murtagh snapped back. He was about to say something else when there was a shuffle behind the door and a clack as the metal latch lifted. Suddenly, Murtagh was faced with the fact that somebody was coming in. He considered hiding for a short moment to be sure that it was the person he wanted, but he wasn't exactly sure _who _he was looking for and he was going to be damned if the moment passed him by because he was too cautious. So, he stood with his back straight and his shoulders firm as the door opened, the maid jumping slightly when she saw him waiting for her.

"Rider!" she yelped, the door closing behind her with a solid thump. "Why are you here?"

"I think you know why," he said carefully, watching her expression for subtle changes to indicate that his guess wasn't wrong. Her features were schooled into perfect confusion, and a little bit of cautious uncertainty. He held up a ring that Nasuada had given him earlier in the day, the same one Garven had placed in her possession if they ever needed to get in contact with people on the inside. "Recognize this?"

She hesitated, her wide brown eyes darting to look down at the engraved gold ring in his hand for a number of heart beats before her demeanor changed. The shy, uncertain maid melted away as she stood taller and firmer, the innocent look shadowed by the confidence and lithe build of a fighter. She reached out to take the ring from his fingers, spinning the ring around her thumb as she gauged him. "You're not who I expected to see."

Murtagh felt curl of uncertainty form in his stomach at her cold tone. "Nasuada sent me in her stead."

The Nighthawk cocked her head slightly, her expression growing suspicious as she took a few measured steps around the room to observe him closer. "And why should I trust you? You're a traitor."

The words sent a cold chill up his spine. "I may have made mistakes in my past," he said lowly. "But, I assure you, I mean no harm. I will swear it in the Ancient Language if that eases your suspicions."

"I am no magician. The Ancient Language means nothing to me." Her brown eyes, framed by a dusting of freckles across her nose, seemed more intimidating than even the strongest Urgal in that moment. "I only trust what I have seen with my own two eyes."

Murtagh pressed his lips together. He needed to win her over somehow. The information she knew was the key they needed to turn the situation in the Surdian courts around and bring order back into a land being torn apart from the inside. Nasuada trusted him to obtain this information, and he wasn't just about to squander that trust because he couldn't win over a single Nighthawk. Squaring his shoulders, he met her suspicious eyes unflinchingly.

"Do you trust your Queen?" he asked.

She stopped. "More than any other being in this Realm."

"Then trust her judgment to send me in her place," he said. "I cannot win you over with words alone, but hear me when I say that if she wished for me to die, I would gladly die a thousand deaths if it pleased her. I would leave this country in a heartbeat if that is what she desires. But instead, she believes that I can become the Rider that this Empire needs and deserves, no matter how much I do not agree." He took a moment to measure her expression once more, reading the subtle changes in the lift of her lips and crease of her brow. "If you cannot trust me, then trust your Queen."

She stared at him in silence, her lips pressed together and her mind churning. He waited with baited breath, hoping his words would be enough to sway her. She shifted then, her tense demeanor relaxing some, and she took two steps across the room to hold the ring out for him to take again. He allowed her to drop it in his hand as she gave a quiet sigh. "Very well then," she said. "What do you want to know?"

He withheld the breath of relief that coursed through him. "The names of all the corrupt officials poisoning this court," he said. "It's time we exposed them for the frauds that they are."

Her lips quirked up to an amused smirk, her eyes glinting in a satisfied gleam. "Finally," she said. "I've been waiting to usurp these fools for months." She crossed her arms and looked up at him again. "I will tell you everything you need to know. Although, there's just one condition." He waited for her to speak, uncertain what she would ask for. Her sneer was prominent as she spoke her next words. "Promise me you'll deck the fat one. He's particularly misogynistic."

Murtagh gave her a half grin. "You have my word."

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Nasuada took a slow sip from her tea, letting the mix of fruity flavors swirl across her tongue, as she glanced at Orrin from the corner of her eye. They were set up in another one of his leisure rooms again, windows open and a nice breeze gently tossing the drapes and the loose parts of her hair around. He spoke idly about something nondescript. She had stopped listening to him nearly ten minutes ago and he had yet to notice her lack of attention. Her eyes trailed away from the rambling monarch to look out on the horizon. Somewhere in the distance, she could make out a tiny dark form in the blue skies moving slowly around the clouds.

_That looks more entertaining than this_, she thought towards it.

_Perhaps_, Thorn responded, surprising her. _Although, the tides are about to turn. Prepare yourself, __hjarta-__véurr. Murtagh has found what you are looking for_.

She felt a shiver roll up her spine and she sat up straighter, placing her teacup down on the table. _Thank you, Thorn_. She turned her eyes toward the doors near them, finally tuning into Orrin's rambles about his achievements in horseback riding, just in time to watch them fly open as a particularly plump man tripped into the room. She heard rather than saw Orrin's tea cup fall from his fingers and clatter against the table as Murtagh strode in, dragging a second man behind him. Orrin was on his feet as the Rider none too gently threw the second man to land in a heaping pile in the middle of the room with the larger one.

"What is the meaning of this?" Orrin demanded.

"There were a couple of weeds in your garden," Murtagh said, stepping forward to press his foot to the chest of the smaller one trying to get up. "I plucked them for you before they infected the whole flowerbed."

"You better have a damn good reason for this," Orrin growled. "Assaulting my most trusted advisors when you are already treading on thin ice is reason enough for me to have you killed, traitor."

"Enough," Nasuada said sharply, standing from her seat. She eyed Murtagh warily for a moment, hoping he had everything he needed to make this intervention go smoothly. "What are you accusing his advisors of, Rider?" _Please have something_.

"Treason," he said firmly. Murtagh reached to the back of his trousers to pull out a stack of half-burnt parchment. "I have evidence that your so called 'trusted advisors' have been receiving payment in order to cover up the travesties occurring in the South."

He held the stack out for someone to take, one of the nervous servants standing nearby finally running out to collect the stack and bring it to Orrin. The Surdian monarch didn't look at the papers immediately as they were handed to him, leveling a dark glare at where Murtagh continued to stand. The Rider didn't flinch and merely kept his hold on the squirming officials still lying on the ground beneath him. Eventually Orrin did look down to look at the papers in his hands. He flipped through each page silently, Nasuada carefully watching his expression change from irritated to angry before he slammed the stack of papers down on the table, rattling the tea cups loudly.

"Is this true?" he said in a dangerous whisper.

Murtagh stepped back as the two officials scrambled to their feet to plead to their ruler. "No, your grace! This is a set up! We would never lie to you about your country's affairs."

"Then how do you explain this?" he demanded. "Pleas from the officials of the port cities for help and protection, claims that their people were being attacked and their goods plundered? Are you insinuating that this is all a ploy to try and trick me?"

"It's no trick," Nasuada said then, catching his attention. "I have received similar pleas when your requests were unanswered." She watched as the color drained from the two advisor's faces. It was one thing to be accused by a traitorous Rider, and another when it came from the Empire's Queen. "Surda is in turmoil, Orrin."

The other monarch looked at her then, a flurry of unanswered questions and barely withheld fury roiling within his eyes. "Guards!" he snapped. "Get these two pieces of filth out of my sight. I will deal with them accordingly later."

The two advisors tried to protest and plead their cases as they were drug away by a pair of guards, the doors slamming loudly behind them. Orrin stood in the same spot, his fingers crinkling the parchment from how tightly he had them fisted. Nasuada eyed him carefully, watching as the fury within him finally came to a simmer and he gradually sunk into his seat, his head falling into his hands.

"What a fool I have been," he said quietly. "How many people have I failed with my inattentiveness?"

"Orrin…" Nasuada said softly.

"But… you knew," he continued, looking over at her. "This whole time you've been here, you knew that I was being tricked."

She pressed her lips together. "I could not say anything until I was sure."

"Because I wouldn't believe you," he said with a dark chuckle. He bit the bottom of his lip, his eyes shadowing with the implications of what he had just learned. His voice was a tiny, uncertain whisper when he spoke next. "What do I do now?"

"Fix it," Nasuada said firmly. "Send your armies, send your resources. Take control of the situation once more. It is not just Surda that suffers if we cannot control this group of bandits, but the whole of Alagaësia. If you will allow me, I will assist you in taking back that country that is rightfully yours."

She waited for him to answer, despite him not looking at her. She hoped that his pride would not step in the way of doing what was right for Surda and refusing her help. It was the only chance the Nighthawks had to rightfully handle the situation without political barriers blocking their way. So, she waited with her shoulders held firm and her appearance stronger than her confidence. It was only a moment later that he nodded and she released a quiet breath.

"Do what you must," he said quietly.

"Thank you, Orrin," she said, reaching out to touch his hand.

"Just promise me one thing," he said, turning to look up at her with a stern expression. "Keep me informed this time."

Nasuada nodded. "You have my word."

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The crackle of the fire in the darkness of the night was what calmed Nasuada. She closed her eyes slightly and let the sounds of nature, the smell of the fire and the warmth of Thorn's scales at her back lull her into a state of relaxation. She hadn't realized how much she liked the feel of traveling until she had left the walls of Aberon and was flying on Thorn's back once again. Now settled into the protective curl of the dragon's embrace and Murtagh beside her, she was starting to feel at home again.

It had been surprisingly difficult to think of anything except how it felt to wake up with Murtagh beside her. His fingers absentmindedly played with the edge of her hair against her neck, softly brushing against the skin along her collarbone and sending warm shivers down her spine that felt too nice for her to move away. His breath was warm against her forehead as he leaned over to kiss it softly.

"Will you go on a walk with me?" he asked her quietly.

She nodded and took his hand when he offered it to her, hoisting her to her feet. Thorn gave a quiet snore from his position, sleeping soundly as Murtagh gave her a small smile in the firelight, leading her away from the soft glow of the fire.

Away from their camp, Nasuada could see the stars as they were meant to be seen, brilliant and awe-inspiring. They skated across the sky like twisting ribbons of light, the darkness wide and encompassing. She followed Murtagh by the tug of his hand on hers, the grass of the meadow giving away to the crunch of branches along the edge of a forest. She looked away from the brilliant sky to watch him lean against a tree, gently pulling her close so that she stood, leaning up against him. His arms fell around her and embraced her warmly, encircling her with the feeling of safety she had become so accustom to.

"I didn't want to wake Thorn," he murmured lightly in her ear. "I just wanted to tell you something."

She watched her fingers curl into the fabric of his tunic. "What is it?"

He didn't respond right away, and she listened to the sound of his breath breathe in and out slowly. "Thorn and I have been talking…" he started carefully. "For so many years, we have craved nothing but freedom and the escape of a life that has only haunted us. But now…" There was a slight hitch in his voice as it fell into a whisper. She went to look up at him and his fingers threaded through her hair to pull her lips up to his. She reacted in surprise to the kiss, her heart beating faster as a heavy warmth pulsated through her veins and melted her tension as she kissed back. He let the kiss linger with an undercurrent of desire and desperation until he pulled away slightly, his whispered words touching her lips. "I don't want to run anymore."

She let the words sink into her like a warm embrace around her heart. She opened her eyes slowly and looked at him, hooded eyes close, noses touching, and she saw the truth in his expression, the honesty threaded through his words. She felt a warm prickle at the back of her eyes as she breathed out, "You're serious?"

His expression did not change, the honesty and intimacy of the moment and his confession still true as he pulled her closer so he could kiss her lips again. "I don't want to run," he murmured against them. "Not from you. Not anymore."

She closed her eyes, feeling the tears wetting her lashes as her heart warmed in her chest. "Finally," she whispered, kissing him back. "Finally."

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The fight the next day was the most comfortable Nasuada had ever experienced, smooth and warm, and surrounded by a feeling she couldn't rightfully describe. She leaned into Murtagh's arms as Thorn's wings beat rhythmically, feeling the wind pulling at her hair. He leaned forward to press a warm kiss against the side of her neck and she smiled.

_We are close_, Thorn announced, beginning to drop altitude. _I can see the Nighthawks from here_.

_Good_, Nasuada responded. _We need to get them up to speed with our plans._

They dropped through the clouds at a rapid but steady pace, the ground below finally coming into view. Nasuada watched as a small port city came into view, looking more and more run down and trashed the closer they flew. Murtagh shifted behind her, sitting straighter as they coasted overtop the city and flew towards the Nighthawk encampment just outside the town.

"Something's wrong," he said.

Nasuada's brow pulled down in confusion as they came in for landing. From where she was sitting, she could see people moving about what looked like the remains of a battle, the remainder of their small traveling band scattered and battered amongst what was left of their merchant cover. As soon as Thorn landed, Murtagh quickly yanked the leather straps free from Nasuada's legs and leapt off his back. She struggled to find her land feet again as she trailed after him, picking their way through the battlefield. She hadn't even realized that her heart was beating painfully in her chest until her eyes found Garven standing amongst a small collaboration of Nighthawks that were looking a worse for wear. He had the decency to look a little surprised when he saw them, dipping slightly into a bow.

"What happened?" she demanded.

"We were ambushed in the middle of the night," he said. "They overwhelmed our sentries and thrashed our camp. Nobody was seriously injured, but we have a bigger issue on our hands."

"What is it?" she breathed, fearing the worst.

Garven sighed and looked over his shoulder toward the island of Beirland looming in the distance before looking back at his Queen. "The ambush was a diversion," he explained. "They came to retrieve one thing, and one thing only." Nasuada felt a cold chill fall down her spine at the dark expression in his eyes. "I'm sorry, my Queen, but Drayok has escaped."


	23. Chapter 23

_Pömnuria Hjarta er Medh Ono_

A/N: Steadily moving our way toward the finale. This is the beginning of the final arc! Thank you to all of you who have given feedback. I'm really glad so many of you are ready to join me for the end of this story. :) Sorry this chapter is a little bit short, but the action begins now, so, as always, ENJOY!

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It was in the dead of the night that they coasted low over the dark ocean to swoop in for a landing upon the dark coastline of Beirland. Thorn landed as quietly as he could, tucking his wings and keeping his body low as his passengers climbed off from his back in quick succession, taking off silently through the forest as the dragon slid between the trees for cover. The darkness of the forest forced the senses of the dragon's Rider to sharpen, his eyesight adjusting accordingly so that he could observe the scene around him. The three of them silently slunk up to the edge of the tree line skirting the edge of a cliff jutting over the island's only port town, Eoam. Murtagh silently slid to his belly beside Garven through the foliage to see through to the town below them.

It was a small town made up of a collaboration of houses and buildings, torches lighting up the spaces between them as bandits brandishing swords at their waists patrolled the streets. In the darkness, the Rider could just make out the transfer of goods from the ships docked at port to the well-lit entrance of a large cave fitted into the face of the rock ledge surrounding the city. He felt a chill fall down at the sound of a woman's screams as she was drug away from her children to be loaded onto the ships in place of the cargo, a line of other silent, shaking women in chains following after her.

"Human trafficking," Garven said quietly beside him. "Humanity never ceases to disgust me." He shook his head and moved to stand up again. Murtagh pressed his lips together and looked over his shoulder to where Nasuada stood, shoulder stiff and her expression hard.

"How long has this been occurring?" she asked, her voice tight.

"Our sources say about a month," the Nighthawk responded. "They've made this town their main base of operations, under the guise that they are reinventing the sea trade for Surda. But if selling stolen goods and the people they took it from is their twisted idea of turning a profit, I don't want to see what else they have planned for the rest of Alagaësia."

"But why this town?" he heard Nasuada ask. "The mainland port cities are better suited for trade and accessibility. Beirland is out of the way and dangerous to traverse with the whirlpool so close. It makes no sense."

"They're not here for the trade," Murtagh said quietly. Nasuada and Garven both looked at him as he turned his eyes back out to the town below. Even with the curse suppressing the magic within him, he could tell that there was something different about this island. It practically hummed with an unknown energy of limitless proportions, practically permeating the air around him. "They're looking for something else. Something a lot more… valuable."

Nasuada was about to say something when applause broke the silence between them, making the three of them freeze in their places. Murtagh was on his feet in seconds, his hand on the hilt of Zar'roc as a figure stepped out from between the shadows of the trees. As the dim night light fell upon her, Murtagh could see that she was just a child, dressed in dark clothes and her hair pulled in a ponytail away from her face. But her eyes were something else altogether, bright violet and gleaming in the darkness with an unnatural sense of knowing far beyond her years. A patch of silver skin in the shape of a star on her forehead glinted in the low moonlight and Murtagh was reminded of a time when he knew a girl with unique eyes and a haunting talent.

"What a good guess, Rider," she said, a thin, knowing smile lifting on her lips. "It's almost as if you knew what they were looking for beforehand."

"Elva," Nasuada said, stepping forward. "I had not realized that you were on this island."

"Well, top secret information isn't obtained without getting close and personal to the source," the girl said, leaning against the tree with a slight smirk. "And there's no one better at getting information than me."

"I cannot disagree with that," the young queen admitted. "How long have you been on this island?"

"Nearly a fortnight," Elva said. "And believe me, there is plenty to say about it."

"Then say it quick," Murtagh said, glancing out toward the sounds of the town. "The longer we linger, the more dangerous this becomes."

Elva shifted her unusual violet eyes his way. "Nervous, Rider?"

He pressed his lips together, unnerved by the way her eyes seemed to see straight through him. "I prefer cautious."

She shrugged slightly. "Fair enough. You're not wrong when you said that they are looking for something in particular, Rider," she said, walking forward a few paces to point out at the city. "That cave there is the center of their operations. Not only do they store all of their valuable cargo there, but deep inside its winding caverns is the only known form of naturally occurring magic in Alagaësia."

Murtagh's mind finally made a connection to something he had heard about many years ago. "The Floating Rock."

"Very good, Rider." Elva clapped again, much to Murtagh's annoyance. "It's this natural magic that has caught their attention. They've been trying to harness this power, but magic like this cannot be controlled so easily." She gave Murtagh a knowing glance as she turned to face Nasuada again. "For a while, that was all it was. Aside from the underground trade, their efforts have been futile. But two days ago, something changed."

Nasuada's expression grew dark. "Drayok."

"That's part of it," Elva confirmed. "But his retrieval was merely an aftereffect of something bigger: the arrival of their one true leader. His father."

"His father?" Nasuada echoed in surprise.

"Rasenth Burtonsson," the girl said with slight malice. "He's a truly nasty character to have create so much death and destruction in such a short amount of time."

"I know of this man," Garven said then. "He was said to be an avid supporter of Galbatorix and the reign of the empire. Not surprising since he was one of the corrupt elitists that benefitted from such a government. Drayok claimed him to be dead."

"Makes you wonder what else he lied about," Elva said forebodingly. "This is no longer a rouge group of underground pirates. Rasenth has rallied them into something bigger and more aggressive. He's raising an army, and they've begun searching for the one thing that will ensure their ability to overthrow the throne: the Pure Spring."

Murtagh felt his blood grow cold. In the back of his mind, he could feel Thorn stirring with suspicion. Elva's eyes were trained on him. "It seems I don't have to explain what that is, do I, Rider?" she asked.

"What does he want with it?" he asked lowly. _If the Spring is what they are after, then everything we have seen and all they have done thus far explains their reasons for being here,_ he said to Thorn. _The assassin at the Games, the destruction in Surda. _

"Rasenth believes that the Spring will erase all signs of aging and heal all wounds, no matter how grave. As long as he has its healing waters, he believes that it will grant him immortality," she said. "I hear that the Spring is a closely guarded secret by the Urgals. You can only imagine how he obtained the information from such a proud race."

Garven looked skeptical at best. "Is such a thing even possible?"

"Immortality? No," the girl replied frankly. "But if he believes it possible, then nothing will stop him from obtaining it and turning his sights on the Empire."

Nasuada frowned, her brow furrowing with deep thought. "Regardless of whether or not this Spring does as it is claimed to do," she said slowly, glancing at Murtagh. "Building an army to try and overthrow my rule over the kingdom is reason enough for us to bring this to a stop. We must end the underground trading, release the people he has enslaved and finish this before everything gets far worse than it already is."

"I will gather the Nighthawks on your word, my lady," Garven said. Nasuada nodded.

"Luckily, you still have some time to plan out a proper assault," Elva added in. "He is preoccupied by combing the islands for the Spring, and will not leave Surda until he has found it. Although, you may want to hurry, because he has already narrowed it down to the final island in the archipelago: Parlim."

_The Southernmost island_, Murtagh confirmed. "We need to get there before he does."

Nasuada recognized the tone of his voice and nodded once as she turned back to her most trusted Nighthawks. "How long do we have before things begin to change again?"

"Days at most, hours at the least," Elva admitted. "Rasenth's return has accelerated their production rate. They are gathering more people at every moment."

"Then I can't afford to have my eyes off of them," she said. "I'm leaving you both here to watch for changes. Notify me immediately if Rasenth returns, or things start to take a dramatic shift in any way. We will return as soon as we find the Spring."

Garven snapped a proper salute to his queen while Elva gave them a muted smile. "Whatever it is that takes you there, I hope that you find what you are looking for," she said, her violet eyes glinting in the low lighting.

Somehow, Murtagh got the impression that she knew _exactly_ what they were here for and why. It unnerved him, but saved him an uncomfortable explanation. "Thank you."

Elva went to nod when she froze, her violet eyes growing wide. She spun on her heel then, her stance defensive and cautious. Garven immediately reached for the dagger on his hip, flipping it into his hand to ready himself for an oncoming attack. Murtagh stepped back instinctually, putting himself between the mysterious threat and Nasuada, his hand moving to Zar'roc's hilt.

"Get out of here!" Elva hissed at them then. "They caught wind of our meeting and are only moments away from ambushing us! Go, now!"

Murtagh didn't need a second warning. He turned on his heel and grabbed Nasuada's hand, taking off at a solid sprint through the forest back the way they came. Nasuada stumbled at first, but matched his pace the best she could. He broadened his senses, becoming hyper aware of the sounds around them, including the distant sound of metal upon metal as the two Nighthawks they left behind met their attackers.

"We need to get to Thorn," he said over his shoulder before thinking out towards his dragon. _We're being attacked. Get ready to fly_.

"Murtagh, wait-!"

There was a crunch of a branch breaking to their left and Murtagh pushed Nasuada behind him, just barely whipping out Zar'roc in time to parry a blow for his neck. He slashed down his assailant as Nasuada pulled out the knife tied to her waist, dodging a blow thrown her way. Within moments, there were three of attackers on top of them, viciously attacking with the intent to knock them unconscious. Murtagh expertly took them down as more arrived, watching Nasuada closely as she took down an attacker herself only to have the knife knocked from her fingers. Murtagh kicked away the attacker near him as she ducked a punch thrown at her head before shouting her name and throwing Zar'roc towards her. She caught it by the hilt and turned to stab it through the man coming at her as Murtagh knocked out the man next to him with a solid kick to the head. He breathed heavily for a moment, trying to calm down his frantically beating heart as he jumped over the bodies of the men to get to her.

"Are you okay? Are you hurt?" he asked quickly, holding her face in his hands as he looked her over for injuries. She shook her head reaching up to touch his hand with her own. "You need to get out of here. There's more coming and it looks like they won't stop until they've captured us. I can keep them off you long enough to get to Thorn and escape."

"_No_," she said sharply, glaring at him. "I'm not leaving you behind."

"Nasuada, there's no choice," he said firmly. "Get to Thorn and get out of here. Gather your armies and come back. I've been through worse things in my life. I'll be fine." He lifted a half smile at her upset expression. She eventually nodded, and tried to hand his sword back to him. He pressed it back to her. "Keep it. It'll keep you safe."

"I'll come back for you," she said then. "I promise."

"I know," he said softly. "Now, go!"

She let her eyes linger on him for a while longer before she turned away to run through the trees. He watched her go for a moment before turning back to where he could already hear the next wave of attackers coming.

_I dislike this,_ Thorn said to him. _The spring is within our reach. _

_I know, brother,_ Murtagh said back as his eyes scanned the trees. _But this situation is too perilous to leave behind. Nasuada needs somebody on the inside and without the Nighthawks, it must be me. _He couldn't hear fighting in the distance anymore and the dread in his stomach told him that he was the only chance they had left to end the resistance. He hoped he was wrong. _Take care of her, Thorn._

_We will come back for you, __bróðir__,_ the dragon responded firmly.

_Good_, Murtagh said with a smirk. _And when you do, we can really give them a taste of our dragon fire._

Thorn agreed and the attackers burst through the trees again, this time with more reinforcements. Murtagh threw himself into the fray, landing a few solid blows to the first few and laying out some of the others with well-timed kicks. But just as he feared, they overwhelmed him, tackling him to the ground until he couldn't move. He struggled, but with the weight of four men on him, he couldn't move.

"Wasn't there another with him?" one of the other men asked. Murtagh felt his heart skip a nervous beat.

"It doesn't matter. We have the spies and the Rider. He alone should be enough for the boss," a taller one said, sneering down at Murtagh. In the back of his mind, Murtagh could feel Thorn flying away with Nasuada on his back and he gave an internal sigh of relief, even as the men hefted him to his knees. "Didn't think we'd recognize you, did you blood traitor? Where's your dragon?"

Murtagh saved him the grace of an answer and spat at his shoes. The man's expression twisted and he threw a viscous kick at the Rider's ribs. Murtagh coughed as his bones bent, but smirked internally, knowing that he had won this battle. These men were far too easy to read.

"Bring him with us back to the caves," the tall man ordered. "Drag him if you must. I'm sure our boss will be _most_ pleased to see him a little roughed up before we present him to him."

The other men laughed and Murtagh fixed a glare at the tall man in charge of the group. He hadn't been lying when he said he had been through worse, but that wasn't going to stop them for trying to give him a run for his money. The best he could do now was focus on the things he needed to know and find a way out before the pirate's plan came to full fruition. He could only hope he wasn't getting in too deep.


End file.
